To Love, And All It Entails
by ausland
Summary: Severus Snape is taken aback when he finds Hermione Granger in the library of his sleepy American town, six years after the war. When she sees him, she thinks she's gone mad- she watched Severus Snape die. Over the months, their hostile relationship changes when she falls apart in front of him, and Severus knows he can help. Time heals some wounds, and potions others. HG-25
1. Chapter 1

**Happy Birthday Gwen! Bonne Anniversaire!**

**It is my lovely cousin's birthday, and because I love her I wrote her a Severus/Hermione oneshot. That mutated into something a bit longer. So, this is the first part. (This happened last year too...)**

**If you are from FTOH (my other SS/HG fanfic) this is quite a bit different. If you aren't, just a warning that this is going to eventually develop into a relationship between Severus Snape and Hermione Granger. In this story, Hermione is 25, and Severus is 45. **

**This takes places six years after the Final Battle, after which Severus moved to America. For some reason, Hermione is there as well. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

He hadn't expected to see her here- his refuge, his sanctuary, the place where he had run to hide from the world and all the open and painful wounds it had inflicted on him.

And yet there she was, messy tumble of curls fighting to escape the confines of what might have at one point been a strict bun, pale face with a scattering of freckles, struggling as she reached up on her tiptoes to grab a book on the top shelf. Her blouse rode up, showing a white strip of skin that contrasted harshly with her black skirt and dark green top. The look of triumph in her eyes as she plucked the teetering book off the shelf and cradled it to her chest was one he recognized after so many years of having her brilliant mind in his class.

Severus took one last look at her, and turned on his heel, stalking away.

He hadn't been prepared to see her; he hadn't been prepared to see anyone from his old life. Just seeing her face- slender, concentrated, with the scars of war and blood and pain in her eyes for anyone to see- had stirred to life things that ought to have been laid to rest. He had thought he had laid them to rest, years ago.

But now Hermione Granger was in his sleepy American town and that meant the war and all it entailed was there along with it.

* * *

The first time Severus had seen Hermione Granger in _his_ library was a Tuesday. He had forgone his usual trip on Wednesday, but found his need for books and routine too pressing to be put off until Friday. Thursday he donned his black coat with his usual surly expression and walked along the cold and windy streets until he reached the doors of the library.

The New England winter darkened the sky early, turning the streets into a kind of dirty grey twilight that was faintly illuminated by street lamps futilely sending out faint golden glows. Even at five in the evening the clouds above were a bruised purple, and the snow that was on the grounds a malignant grey. It suited Severus's mood perfectly.

A gothic building housed the library, the inside of which was warm and cheery, carrying the faint scent of peppermint and old books and coffee. The familiarity of the place that had become his hideaway reassured Severus, banishing the uncomfortable feeling of seeing a piece of his old life amongst his new one.

Not that his new one was anything special. Severus read, did his shopping, stayed indoors when it snowed. He ventured past the walls of his drafty yet still comfortable home to go to the rattling old supermarket, a small sandwich place, and the library. Almost every day he made the walk from his house to the library, sinking into book after book with an intensity that frightened the two junior librarians.

The senior librarian, an old woman named Martha, was there when he entered. She smiled cheerily at him, unfazed by his scowl.

"We've got another English one," she told him in that flat and strange American accent that bothered him as much as it comforted only in that it was so different from the tones of England. "A girlie who seems to like reading as much as you do."

Severus's scowl deepened. "I'll be in my usual area," he said shortly.

"Closing is at eight," the librarian said simply in reply, settling into her chair.

Even as he selected a thick book and settled into the chair (comfy and worn and smelling of staleness and books) he had claimed as his upon his arrival six years ago, Severus could not shake the sensation that something was wrong. He wondered what she had touched, what she was doing here. If she had swept her fingers across the spines of the books on his right, or if she had bypassed the nonfiction for the shelves filled with frilly romances.

Hermione Granger was not supposed to be in America. Tuesday night he had gone home and raged for no reason, smashing a few of his not-so-good plates on the tile of his kitchen floor. Hermione Granger was not supposed to show up out of nowhere and remind him that on a damp little island there was a school of magic with a boathouse that had probably been torn down and rebuilt because _Severus Snape had died there._

They had all left him for dead in that damp little boat house that stank of lake water and rotting wood and snake. Potter had taken his memories (his precious memories of Lily- not precious because he had loved her but precious because they reminded him that at one point he had been loved) and disappeared. The only one who had looked back had been Granger.

_Pain in his neck and pain in his back and pain in his mind and just painpainpain. His memories were gone- hazy all of a sudden not there anymore and he couldn't remember why he had wanted Potter to look at him all he could remember was that the anti-venom he brewed and consumed weeks ago might have run out and stopped working. The green eyes were gone and then the warmth around him was gone and they were leaving. _

_Potter left first- his eyes were half closed but he could still make out the boy's form slipping out the door. The tall redhead was next, and then the slender figure of a girl, head oddly distorted by her bushy hair. Then instead of her bushy hair he was looking into her eyes. _

_Hard- they were hard as they looked at him. Judging. Angry. Then-_

_Soft. _

_She flicked her wand, and then there was a white sheet over him, covering his face. She said something he didn't understand, and then she was gone. _

_Severus groaned- the sheet was over his mouth and his eyes, but at least it was making him warmer. Already it was sticky with his blood- something in the damn snake's venom made the blood refuse to clot. Either the anti-venom would work soon or he would be dead. _

In the silence of the library, Severus raised his hand to his neck and brushed his fingertips over the fabric covering his ropy scars. It had worked. He had lived. He had gathered his strength and Apparated to a Muggle hospital. They had healed him and as soon as he had the strength, he left in the middle of the night and returned to Spinner's End. There he gathered his things, set fire to the house, and the next day he was in America.

He lived comfortably in Maine, in a sleepy little town that didn't pry when a tall solemn man who always wore a turtleneck or frock coat showed up and moved into a house that hadn't been lived in for nearly twenty years. Severus was glad he had made his contingency plan when he was young- he had almost forgotten about the house he had purchased in American months after Lily died and he had turned. Now it was a safe place to return to. A safe haven.

Slowly Severus lost himself in the book, long fingers tapping on the side of the chair as he brushed up on his Muggle chemistry.

Humming jolted him out of his equations and chemicals. His head shot up, with a small noise of anger.

"Oh- sorry, I didn't mean to disturb any-" the sweet clear voice trailed off, and the kind brown eyes widened. "Oh god." It was said in a high breathy voice- panicked, terrified. "It's happened, it's happened, I'm going mad-"

She sounded so absolutely broken and terrified. Severus noted the changes in her posture, in her coloring. She wavered, face paling dramatically as she dropped the books she was holding and covered her face with her hands, still talking to herself.

"Calm yourself, Miss Granger," Severus snapped. "I'm neither a ghost nor an apparition. Stop that-"

He was looking at a wand point aimed directly for his heart. The hand that held it shook terribly- explaining why it wasn't pointed at the smaller target of his head. "Explain yourself," Hermione Granger ordered, her voice no steadier than it had been before. "Severus Snape died and I saw it, so either you're someone impersonating him or I've finally snapped."

With careful, deliberate actions, Severus closed his book, remembering the page for future reference. "Wrong on both counts, Miss Granger."

"I'm not some first year afraid of getting an E," Hermione said, a dangerous sliver of something in her voice. When he looked up at her face, at her eyes, there was something there that unsettled him. _Bellatrix Lestrange used to have eyes like that._ "I'm a woman who fought in a war. I watched people I loved and respected die, _including you_, so if you don't want an Unforgiveable in the chest you'd best explain yourself."

He believed her. "Anti-venom brewed into a daily vitamin potion. Taken everyday for two and a half years," he said smoothly. "Although-"

"That would explain how you survived," Hermione said, refusing to drop her wand an inch. "But that doesn't prove that's who you say you are."

He scowled blackly at her. "You hexed me in your third year when Lupin and Black were having their little reunion. My most frequent comment on your essays were _stick to the required length._ You conjured me a shroud before I was dead. Sufficient?"

She stared at him for a moment, then dropped her wand. "Yes." She looked down at the books scattered around her feet, then knelt to pick them up. Severus felt vaguely bad- he was still seated and didn't move to help her.

When the books were stacked in her arms again, she stood and stared at him. Their eyes met and held for a moment, and then she turned and left.

With a sigh Severus sank into the chair, jaw clenching as he tensed then relaxed. He felt oddly weary- his bones ached and there was a tickle of worry at the base of his spine that she would tell someone in England he was alive.

He frowned at his book, then reshelved it and stalked out of the library.

* * *

The next day he braved the library again, hoping that she would have been sufficiently frightened away and would not return. He was wrong- when he arrived at the double doors, he looked through the glass to see her sitting at a table directly across from the door. Their eyes met, and his teeth met with an audible clack as he glared at her.

What didn't the chit understand? He didn't want to see anyone from there, he didn't want to be reminded of what he had done and what he hadn't done. Severus wasn't quite sure he wanted to die but he wasn't at all concerned with living much longer either. He wanted to die in peace- he wanted to live out the rest of his life in a quiet town where no one bothered him and he could be alone with his books and his potions and maybe a cat if he got lonely enough.

With a growl he spun on his heel and started walking away, thinking black thoughts at the silly little girl who thought that-

"Wait- Professor Snape, please-" She was _chasing_ him. Impertinent girl.

He stopped, and turned around. "I have no interest in anything you have to say," he hissed at her. "Tell no one I am here." His breath made clouds in the cold air.

"I won't," she said, stumbling to halt in front of him. She was breathing hard, and her cheeks were pink. She looked disgustingly healthy. "I just-" She looked away. "I don't know."

"Obviously," he drawled. "Leave here."

Her head snapped up and her eyes met his defiantly. "No," she retorted. "I'm living here now."

That idea enraged him. "Go back to England and your precious Boy-Who-Lived and the Wonder Sidekick," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "Forget you ever saw me here, forget whatever soul searching you were trying to do."

"I will do no such thing," Hermione replied. "I'm here for a while."

"Then don't bother me," Severus muttered, rage and fury and sorrow swirling in a red and boiling haze somewhere in his ribcage. "Leave me alone."

There might have been hurt on her face, but he didn't care to search for it. "Fine," Hermione said. "I just- I wasn't sure if you were real. I thought I had gone-" She cut herself off and just looked at him. "Sorry. I'll go."

"Please do," he said cruelly. She stiffened, then walked away. He turned and continued to his house. At least now she might have the decency to stay away from the library.

* * *

From then on he only saw her once or twice every week. One day she was at the same little supermarket he used, pushing a red plastic cart filled with all manner of green leafy things and what looked to be the makings of a roast; he stalked past her without acknowledgment and finished his shopping just as she was going to the register.

Another time he saw her walking through his window- her hair was in disarray and she was tightly wrapped against the cold. There was something wrong with her movements- he watched her for a while before he realized she was crying. There was something too personal about that- he closed the curtain and moved deeper into the house to make some tea.

Most of the time though, he saw her at the library. She read as voraciously as she had at Hogwarts, devouring six or seven huge books every weeks. She would walk past his seat, determinedly looking anywhere but him, her stubborn chin mulishly set.

Spring came in a series of dripping torrents- spring storms were apparently common in the region. Severus enjoyed the thunder and lightening. However the wet made walking to the library uncomfortable- he resorted to using his wand to discreetly dry himself before entering.

Hermione had no such ideas- she carried around a large umbrella and left it propped up by the door when she walked in. He couldn't decided if her way was better, or if his was.

His notice of her was always referred to, even in the privacy of his own mind, as self interest. He monitored her for signs of happiness, for distress, for worry. He didn't want to miss something and then find Potter and Weasley in his town the next day.

But she seemed normal enough. Big smiles for the librarians, quick chats with all of them. She laughed sometimes, with a tilt of her head that sent her hair down her back. The humidity in the States did her hair no favors- it was a huge as ever, puffing out around her head and down her back in masses of disorganized curls. He found out through these conversations that she worked at the small primary school teaching first grade. He had no idea that she had the credentials to teach in the States- but it had been nearly seven years. She would have been eighteen during the war, so that would mean she would be twenty-five now. He learned that her cat- Crookshanks, such a ridiculous name- loved America. He learned that she was adapting quite nicely thank you very much, and that the American name for thongs were apparently "flip-flops" and that a thong was a type of scandalous underwear and that talking about underwear made Hermione blush.

In a fit of rebellious pique he had decided to call her Hermione in his head, not Miss Granger. He had given up any rights to being a professor in a position of respect during his last year of Hogwarts, and she was no longer a student of any kind. He would show her no formality in the sanctity of his own mind.

As summer came the days grew hotter and clearer. The spring showers stopped, flowers bloomed prettily, and his continued wearing of high-necked collars drew Severus strange looks.

Even the librarians noticed, or at the very least, Emily, the sillier of the two junior ones.

"Every day he's here," the girl's high, twittering voice told Hermione. "Brit like you, didn't I tell ya?"

Hermione's voice sounded subdued when she spoke. "Martha mentioned it once, I think. Are you coming to the play the little ones are putting on?"

"Nah. Every single day. And he's always wearing black and covering his neck- If I were ten years younger I'd swear he was a vampire!" She laughed, grating on Severus' nerves. "So weird!"

"He has every right to wear turtlenecks in the summer," Hermione said, voice soft and angry. "Just as much right as I've got to wear long sleeves. Or do you talk about my clothing choices with other people who come here?"

She left, and Severus watched her as she stormed out in a fury. Strange- in all his months of watching her he hadn't noticed she never left her arms bare. Suddenly, he wanted to know why.

In the beginning of July they were both at the library, studiously ignoring each other, when Martha walked over to Severus and the other juinor librarian to Hermione. "Library's closing early tonight," she told him. "Fireworks will be starting any minute and we all wanted to go."

"Fireworks?" Severus inquired, brow furrowing as he stood and placed his book back in its proper place, to Martha's approving nod.

"It's the fourth," Martha said, chuckling. "The Fourth of July. Usually we're closed on the Fourth but this year I had to get the girls all their hours." That explained it- American Independence Day.

Severus reached the door at the same time as Hermione- it wouldn't do to be impolite, but he hardly even thought before he opened it for her.

"Thanks," she said, surprise coloring her voice. It was the first word she had said to him in months.

"You're welcome," he said shortly. He began walking in the direction of his house, and she followed. He was about to snap at her when he realized sheepishly that almost all the houses were along the same direction.

At least she wasn't inclined toward filling every empty silence with chatter. The night was clear, if a bit too warm. Fireflies blinked in bushes and rolled lazily through the air, and cicadas chirped unseen in the trees.

The air shook with pressure, a loud rushing sounds pressing on his chest and shooting upward. A boom sounded, and the sky was alight with colored sparks. Panic darted through Severus as the girl beside him froze with fear, her expression shown starkly on a face colored red and blue from the sky. Two more booms shook the earth and without thinking he grabbed her and ran the few more steps toward his house, pulling her with him as adrenaline filled his blood and his heart pounded in his ears. His wand was in his hand before he thought and he was in the middle casting a shield when realized where he was and what was happening.

It was disconcerting, the way the war and the fighting had come back to him with sickening clarity. In the midst of the fighting he had never lost his nerve like he had then- perhaps because he had become accustomed to the sense of safety he had in this quiet little town. In England he had been constantly expecting to die- here he wasn't. He was safe, and it was just fireworks. And other series of earth shaking roars sent more colors up into the sky, with cheers from the park where a crowd of people had gathered to watch.

He realized with a start that he was still holding Hermione. "My apologies," he said, releasing her immediately.

With a broken sound, she clutched to him, eyes still wide with fear. She was shaking, he saw, trembling so hard that when he steadied her he shook himself.

"What- what-" she was trying to say, but she was having trouble breathing, she was gasping in air and her knees were buckling. He steadied her further, but feeling himself dragged down with her weight, muttered a curse and picked her up entirely.

The door opened when he sent a concentrated thought toward it; he entered and it slammed behind them, making a noise that caused Hermione to flinch dramatically in his arms. Her warmth was foreign, unsettling. Quickly he deposited her in his armchair, kneeling on the ground in front of her.

"It's the fireworks," he rasped. "Their Independence Day celebrations. It's just fireworks."

For a moment she just looked at him, haunted eyes terrified and broken and filled with tears. Then she broke down, collapsing in on herself as she sobbed. It made a pitiful picture, the girl folded in on herself, clutching her limbs and she shook with fear and heaving sobs.

It distressed him to see her in such obvious pain- it took a long time for Severus Snape to become attached to people but he had known this girl for fourteen years and she was his last link to England and magic. "Stop- stop crying. Please. It's just fireworks." He wasn't pleading, exactly, nor begging.

She was crying so hard she fell out of the chair- no wonder, it was far too big and he had placed her too close to the edge. Hermione fell on top of him, and he instinctively held her. Small fists clenched tightly in his shirt, and she wept on his shirt, in his arms.

Her form was womanly, rounded and soft in most areas. Her elbows were bony, though, and the knees that were pressing into his thighs. Silently he arranged her body until it was aligned neatly with his, and let her finish her sobs in the hollow between his shoulder and his collarbone.

Time didn't meander on slowly and last an age; instead, the sensation of holding and giving comfort and reassurance sped by until the small shoulders slowed then stopped quivering, and the hot breath on his neck came slower. Soon she was still, and the hands curled into fistfuls of his shirt loosened and she sat up tentatively.

Awkwardly, he leaned away. "Tea?" he asked.

"Please," Hermione answered, refusing to meet his eyes.

He lifted her again and set her on the chair, feeling her shame and embarrassment. The physical act of making tea was simple and calming- he spelled the snot and tears from his turtleneck and carefully set up the tea tray. Outside the window in his kitchen he could still hear the boom and see the flash of the fireworks, lighting the sky in blue, red, and white.

When he brought the tea into the sitting room, Hermione's face was dry, if still blotchy, and only her hands were trembling. "Would you like something stronger in the tea?"

She shook her head. "It wouldn't be a good idea," she said hoarsely. "Liquor- I've found that it aggravates the nerve damage from the Cruciatus."

As he handed her the cup, he did a quick calculation in his head. Cruciatus damage among young Death Eaters was not at all uncommon- in the old day the Dark Lord had restrained himself when punishing followers and his older Death Eaters had gradually built up a resistance as their lord and master descended into madness and tortured them for longer and longer periods. For Hermione to still be experiencing the consequences after almost seven years, she would have had to have been under the curse for a prolonged period of time. Then he remembered- she had been tortured by Bellatrix at Malfoy Mannor, and had escaped.

"I could brew something to help," he said, unsure if she would accept his aid.

The look she sent him was full of hope. "Really?"

"I wouldn't offer if I believe it wasn't possible," he said, a bit miffed that she would doubt him.

She immediately colored. "Sorry," she muttered. "It's just that I've been looking for something for... well, at least five years. I'd given up." She shrugged.

Now he felt bad. "It was a frequent issue among Death Eaters," he said stiltedly. "They weren't useful if they were jumpy and hallucinating. And the attacks would come on without warning-" he stopped suddenly. "How bad is it?"

Hermione looked down at her tea, white hands wrapped around the mug. "Bad," she admitted. "In the first few years it was the worst. At least two seizures a week, sometimes up to one a day. Not so bad with the hallucinations, just flashbacks. Now I'm down to maybe one or two bad seizures every six months. And I only have flashbacks when there is a trigger. Like-"

"Like the fireworks," Severus finished. "I know what can help."

She let out something that was a mix between a sigh and a laugh. "All along I was thinking that if you were alive- a Potions Master- you could invent something. And then I found you when I had finally given up and-" she did it again, but this time it sounded closer to a sob.

The feeling of guilt grew worse. "And why are you here?"

She met his eyes, her own dark in her pale face. The darkness of her masses of hair and the tiny pinpoints of her freckles made the tone of her skin stand out. "I felt out of place there. Everything and everyone reminded me of the war but everyone was moving on and I was stuck..." her voice trailed off. "I taught at Hogwarts for a year. Defense. I couldn't keep it up. Neville's doing Herbology- Sprout retired."

"So it reopened, then," Severus said, at loss for something to say.

Hermione nodded, apparently grateful to have found a safer and less personal topic. "It took almost five months of rebuilding, but the castle pulled through. They put up a monument with all the names of the fallen, Muggle and Wizarding alike."

"Is my name on there?" Severus asked, morbidly curious.

Hermione winced. "Yes," she answered. "Most of the names are in order, but Harry insisted that yours be given a place of honor because-" she winced again. "He used you to defeat Voldemort."

That confused Severus. "Used me?"

"Used the knowledge of your true loyalty," Hermione clarified. "That you weren't loyal to Voldemort because he killed Lily and you-" She stopped. "I had words with Harry after that about revealing personal things in front of large crowds."

Severus laughed bitterly. "So now I'm a hero because of an exaggeration?" he asked sarcastically. "I can see it: how tragic, it was, the the greasy bat of the dungeons had a crush on Lily Potter and his love for her saved the Boy-Who-Lived."

The tea was gone, so he gathered up the tea things and put them in the kitchen, taking a moment to settle himself. When he returned, Hermione was curled up in the armchair. "That wasn't how it really was, then?" she asked.

"No," Severus said shortly. "Nothing is as it seems, there."

"I find myself agreeing with you," Hermione said wryly. "I thought things would change after the war, that the system would change and equality for everyone would be possible... in short, I learned that I was naive and idealistic."

"I could have told you that," Severus said with a short chuckle. "Spew?"

"S.P.E.W.," Hermione retorted. "I was fifteen." There was a trace of a smile on her face. "You knew about it?"

Severus smirked. "It was a running joke among the staff," said Severus, trying to keep his tone neutral. "From hippogriffs to house elves. I thought that the next one would be harpies." It felt like a dream, to be sitting in his sitting room with a former student- quite possibly the most annoying student he had ever had- talking about house elf rights and the past.

Hermione groaned, leaning her head back on the seat the chair. His eyes were drawn the long expanse of neck that was revealed, slender and white and framed by curls. The coiling in his belly unsettled him, and he looked away toward the bookshelves.

Another firework explosion, larger this time, shook the ground, and both wizard and witch flinched. "I wasn't expecting that," Hermione admitted. "That's probably why the reaction was so bad."

"It got me too," Severus said, scowling at the window and the multicolored sky behind it. "Too bright, and too loud."

"Do they do fireworks any other time of the year?" Hermione asked, shivering. "I don't like them."

"New Year's Eve," Severus answered after a moment's thought. "You weren't here then, were you?"

"No," replied Hermione."The spring term for the school started in late January and I only just got here in time. When I saw you was my... second day here."

The two of them were quiet for a long while, the only sound their breathing in the room. Severus cast an appraising glance around the house, glad that he tidied constantly and wasn't a very messy person. The window curtains were a dark green and mostly drawn, the floor was wood that was only scuffed in a few places. The few pieces of furniture were old and soft with age, the writing desk off to the side was slightly dusty and unused. A corridor off to the side led to the bathroom and stairs that led to his bedroom, down the other way was a spare room that he used as a library. In the basement was his Potions lab, and in the attic above he stored the few things he had brought with him from England.

"It's getting late," Hermione said regretfully. "I should be getting home." She cast a worried look at the clock, and then the windows.

The fireworks were still exploding, still making noises and bright colors. Severus sighed. "I'll go with you."

At least this time she knew better than to as if he was sure. "Thank you," was all she said. They stood at the same time and left the house. Outside the sounds of the fireworks were louder, and she shivered again, despite the warm air and her thin long sleeved shirt.

The walk to her house was quick and quiet, punctuated only with the crack of fireworks. The home Hermione had chosen was tiny, cute even, with a steep A-line roof and blue shutters. "Goodnight," Severus said, pausing awkwardly at the door.

"Goodnight," said Hermione, a serious tone in her voice and a serious look on her face. "Thank you. For everything, Professor."

"Severus," he said quickly. "I'm no longer your professor."

She smiled at him. "And I'm no longer your student. Hermione, then."

He had been running through the ingredients he would need for the potion he was planning on the way to her house. A mental inventory of his stores had informed him he needed several things. "Would you like to come to Salem with me this weekend? For the potion?" As soon as the question was out he regretted it.

She brightened, and his doubts vanished. "I would love to. It's a bit of a drive, isn't it? I have a car we could take, although I hardly use it."

"Or we could Apparate," Severus suggested, amusement in his voice. Hermione colored.

"That would work too," she agreed.

He smirked. "Then I'll be here at nine on Saturday morning," he said firmly.

* * *

The three days that passed between the fourth of July and Saturday morning moved with unbearable slowness. Books bored Severus. Instead he spent his time writing down the steps for the potion, reviewing the ingredients, considering new techniques and how they might be applied to achieve his purpose.

He caught sight of Hermione once as he walked by the park on the way to the sandwich shop he sometimes picked up a sub from; she waved cautiously and he nodded in her direction. He tipped especially well that day, and although he told himself it was because the teenager manning the register was appropriately apathetic he wasn't quite convincing enough to fool himself.

On Saturday Severus rose at seven, and was finished dressing, showering, and eating by eight. He had an hour to whittle away until nine, and he spent it alternating between pacing and reviewing his list of ingredients. At nine o'clock he was knocking on Hermione's door.

When it swung open she was half out of breath, with a large smile spreading across her face. "Sorry- I'm almost ready. Come in- I just need to grab my bag and try to do something about my hair."

He ducked into the house- he was a tall man and the door was only just taller than his head. "Am I early?" A glance toward the clock on her mantle told him he wasn't.

Hermione just flushed. "I woke up late," she said in explanation. "And my hair decided to be difficult."

It had indeed- curls were flying all over the place. With a sigh, he leaned against one of the walls. "I can see."

She made a flapping gesture with her hand and drifted deeper into the house. He took the opportunity to look around- it was quaint enough- lots of lace but bare of knick-knacks. A pile of letters was on the desk, as well as what looked like lesson plans. He smirked- he was glad he had gotten out of teaching before it drove him mad. The bookshelves were overflowing and Severus could count two abandoned tea cups, one on the mantle and another on a small table. There was a telly that looked hardly used, and three or four comfortable chairs all surrounded by books. On the fridge there were several childish drawings and paintings, all lovingly placed.

Hermione rushed back, hair pinned firmly down (although some strands were already fighting to escape) and a bag on her shoulder. "Alright- I'm ready."

"Good," Severus said curtly. "Have you been to Salem before?"

"Only once, when I made the long distance Apparition," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. "Would you like to Side-Along?"

He nodded once. "It would be best. The American government does not track Apparition like the British one does- freedom of the people, apparently. We'll be undetectable."

Severus offered Hermione his arm. She stared at it for a moment, surprised, then hooked her arm through his and clutched his bicep tightly as they were compressed through time and space. The familiar sensation of air being squeezed from his lungs as his body shot through a series of tight steel tubes was over just as the lack of air was become uncomfortable.

They arrived in an alley not far from the nondescript building that was the entrance to the Salem version of Diagon Alley. Hermione pulled away and hunched over, coughing hard. A flicker of worry lit in Severus' chest- a worry that he had Splinched her and left her lungs behind or she hadn't been prepared and-

"I'm okay," she croaked. "Ow."

Relief crashed over him in a wave that made him furious and happy at the same time. "Let's go, then."

For some reason, he offered her his arm again. Her eyes were watering as she looked up at him and beamed. "Thank you," she said happily, and took it. The feeling of small fingers resting on his arm was strange, but good.

The two of them walked down the empty street, looking both ways before walking into the small building covered in faded posters advertising a band- something he vaguely remembered from the eighties. Crossing through the illusion was like rising from under water- what had been a quiet bubble of peace and quiet and solitude (how strange it was that her presence registered differently in his senses) to a cacophony of noise that had been muted before.

Salem Village was set up like a farmer's market, almost, with vendors lining the roads and calling out offers for apple cider and fresh pie and hotdogs. For the first time in months Severus heard conversations around him filled with words impossible to find in the Muggle world- Muggle, for instance, and Firebolt, and Harry Potter-

"He's news even here?" Hermione whispered. "Merlin."

Severus' lip curled. "Even in America the Boy-Who-Lived is famous. The only person to survive two killing curses. A miracle."

Hermione's lips pursed, and she surveyed the crowd with insolent eyes. "Let's find what we need," she said finally. "I'm just glad that I'm not nearly as famous as he is."

He graced her with a mocking sneer. "You mean to say that I'm in the presence of a celebrity?"

Again she wrinkled her nose into a sort of face that looked as if it belonged on a teenager. "Prat. You're one too, you know. At least in England."

They walked down the cobbled street in companionable silence. The heat was just as oppressive here as it was in Maine; Severus cast cooling charms on the two of them. He was wearing, as was his wont even in the heat of summer, a turtleneck. Hermione wore a long sleeved tee shirt in a lovely grey color. He wondered what she was hiding on her arms.

It was quick work, finding a vendor of potions ingredients. Severus peered down at the newt's intestines and nightshade with an expert's eye, scowling at the vendor when he turned over the skin of a knewase.

"We must find another place," he told Hermione, anger showing through his voice. "These ingredients are subpar."

With a sneer, he walked away, slowing his pace so Hermione could keep up. "Next one, then?" she asked.

The next three didn't have the quality that Severus was looking for, but the fifth they tried has reasonably priced nightshade berries and hellotrope fresh enough to make his eyes water. It was half past eleven when they finished their shopping- Severus giving Hermione such an incredulous look when she offered to pay that she hastily stowed her wallet back in her purse with a mumbled apology.

"Are you hungry?" asked Severus suddenly. He didn't usually eat much, but plenty of the people around them were beginning their lunches and he wondered if she was hungry and not saying anything. She had been looking at the various food vendors, too.

She shrugged. "Are you?" Ah- she was avoiding the question.

"That isn't the answer to the question I asked," he replied snarkily. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes, then," Hermione replied trying for just as much snark. "I didn't have time to eat breakfast!" She looked horrified all of a sudden- he was confused until she explained. "My stomach wasn't making noises, was it?"

What- "No," he said. "What would you like?"

"I don't know but I'm buying," she said firmly. "My treat. For the sake of fairness." She looked up at him, craning her neck slightly. "We're in America, you know," she said seriously. "Democracy, you know. Fairness and equality and all that."

He snorted, but allowed her to buy the both of them pretzels, with a promise of lunch later. It took time to leave Salem Village, but when they finally made it to the Muggle Street the lack of the noise was almost deafening.

Lunch was had in a small eatery that offered real American seafood; he ordered clam chowder and Hermione got a kind of salad of crab and potatoes and sausage that she appeared to enjoy greatly.

He hadn't been quite sure what to expect as far as conversation with his former student would go- all he knew about her wasn't really that much. She was young, yes, but he knew that she wouldn't prattle on about the average problems of the average witch in their twenties. And she was smart, but she wasn't the kind of awkward academic who could speak only about one particular passion.

Instead, they spoke of trivial things. American habits they found strange, Hermione's job as a school teacher, the librarians, Potions theory. He was pleased to find her grasp of his art was surprisingly good, a testament to his teaching or her own research, he didn't know. Hermione was a lively conversation partner, with a wit just a quick as his if not as biting. She knew by now not to take his sarcasm seriously- in fact, she actually laughed as some of his dryer humor.

Topics that the couple avoided included the war and Wizarding folk back in England. They skirted cautiously around names and places that might cause a reaction in the other, and outright avoided certain questions. The food disappeared, but they lingered at the restaurant until their waitress brought the check with a rather pointed inquiry regarding dessert.

It was two o'clock when Severus Apparated them both into Hermione's living room, the two of them landing neatly on the wooden floor.

"The entire morning was lovely," said Hermione, a touch of wistfulness in her tone. "If you wouldn't mind- could I watch while you brew the potion?"

A tendril of doubt and self-consciousness paralyzed Severus for a moment, but he quickly regained his wits and answered. "If you would like. I had planned to begin tomorrow morning. The first portion is quite delicate and requires continued attention for more than six hours."

She beamed at him. "Then what time should I come over?"

"Ten?" he suggested. "We could prepare the ingredients, eat, then start."

She rewarded him with an even greater smile. "Perfect. I'll see you then."

He left quickly, not quite able to keep a small smile from spreading across his face. There was something to look forward to on the horizon.

* * *

**This is only the first part. There will be at least one more, perhaps two. **

**I wanted to try a different style (such as writing only from Severus' perspective) and I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, tell me why, in a review either here or on tumblr.**

**Of course, if you can read in French, my cousin has some lovely stories. **

**Thank you for reading! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello!**

**Part Two is here, and Part Three is underway. Like I said, stories like these tend to get away from me. This was supposed to be a oneshot for my cousin Gwen, and it expanded. **

**Many thanks to all who reviewed- wow there were a lot of you. I wasn't sure how well this would be received considering it is so different from my usual writing style, but your comments were lovely. **

**On to the story!**

* * *

The next few weeks developed a type of routine. Hermione would come over at midmorning, and he would prepare potions ingredients on one cutting board while she made lunch on another. He would snark at her and she would laugh. Hermione wasn't scared of him, far from it. She could give as good as she got, and after one afternoon of endless debate (which involved tea, name calling, and Hermione storming out of the room after he made several comments about grown-up know-it-alls just to come back in and call him a heartless bastard who didn't understand how the underlying principles of thermodynamics affected the potion and then storming back out, just to return, apologize, and sheepishly mention she got a bit involved when it came to academics) she treated him with a level of familiarity that made him frown on the outside and smile on the inside.

They would eat whatever she made, and then she would help him carry all the bowls of various innards and plants into the basement potions lab. Then he would begin brewing, checking on the base of the potion and sinking into the kind of clear haze of focus. His concentration was on the potion alone, and yet his thoughts were free to wander. And wander they did- usually to the woman perched on a stool with her hair wild about her head and a pen either in her hand as she wrote letters or in her hair as she read.

Severus found he enjoyed Hermione's company. She didn't talk too much, but she provided a warm presence that lessened the aching feeling of loneliness Severus hadn't known was his constant companion until it was replaced with a bushy haired girl.

She usually left before dinner, although perhaps once or twice a weeks she stayed to finish her book (filched from his library) while he made dinner with a half smile on his face. On Saturdays they would walk to the library together, in either complete silence or in the midst of a complex argument depending on their mood. He found that she was an excellent debater, although she hated being wrong and would stubbornly cling to her point of view until he gave an irrefutable piece of evidence; then she would heave a great sigh and give him a long suffering look before grumpily conceding to him. He could usually wheedle her back into a good mood with a book from his shelves.

Severus Snape's days revolved around Hermione Granger and his nights were filled with dreams of darkness and spellfire and occasionally a woman with soft pink lips and unruly hair and tired eyes.

The librarians saw them coming in together and whispered in the stacks; Martha smiled and patted Hermione's shoulder.

The potion was a long one to make with many intensive steps- Severus was experimenting with a few things and wanted to make sure it was perfect. In the three weeks he worked on the potion, he was happier than he had been in years.

He had thought that the quiet life suited him. He wasn't quite sure that particular assumption was wrong, but he was sure that the idea that the quiet life was a solitary one wasn't quite true either.

* * *

"The potion will be ready tonight," said Severus abruptly. They were seated at his kitchen table, eating the cold sandwiches that Hermione had made. He had learned that letting her anywhere near an oven or stove top was a bad idea- that woman could burn water if she put her mind to it.

She finished chewing, an introspective look on her face. "Oh," she said, swallowing. "That's good."

He might have been wrong, but he thought he detected a slight sorrow in her voice. "You don't sound pleased."

Her eyes immediately widened as she sought to reassure him. "Oh- Severus, I'm very glad it'll be ready, it's just- well-" She stumbled on her words, then huffed. "I'm glad."

He narrowed his eyes. "Oh?"

"'Oh,' yes," Hermione retorted, squirming under his gaze. "It was just- I'd made plans to- well, to celebrate when it was done. I'd thought you'd let me know sooner." There was definitely reproach in her posture.

Severus scowled. "What kind of celebration?" If she was planning on cooking dinner, he needed to know where all the fire extinguishers were.

She flapped a hand, her way of saying 'nothing important.' "You were making something for me, so I'd thought I'd make something for you."

"It had best not be dinner," he said, guessing that while honesty might not be the best policy in this case, it had best be said. The curtains in his kitchen had smelled like smoke for three days. "Almost all my floors are wood."

She glared at him, a tinge of red coming to her cheeks. "That was one time!" Hastily, she stood and collected her plate and his.

"And you set the counters and the curtains on fire," he countered, rising to help her. "And the time before that if I hadn't smelled smoke you might have-"

He couldn't finish his thought as she interrupted again."Hush," she ordered him crossly. "Honestly. Two little flames and it's the end of the world-" She deposited the plates in the sink and turned on the water.

"Two little flames?" asked Severus incredulously, pointing to the scorched curtains. _Hush? _"It was a _fire_ with smoke and flames and-"

She whirled around and planted her wet hands on her hips. "I warned you before I started cooking that I've never been formally trained, and-"

"'Never been formally trained' is a long way from 'I can set fires by breathing,'" Severus said sarcastically, eye dancing. She was trying to hide smile- he could see it, and the tension at the corners of her mouth let him know she was enjoying this as much as he was.

She continued to wash the dishes, pointing a fork at him. "Watch it, Mister, or you might bruise my tender feelings." He gave in and smirked at her from his position leaning against the table until she turned around.

He snorted. "Tender feelings my arse," he said dismissively. "Your feelings are tougher than elephant hide." Her shoulders trembled, from what Severus was sure was suppressed laughter.

Hermione shook her head, curls flying everywhere. "I'm serious. If you're going to knock my cooking, then you need to take into account that no one ever taught me to cook!"

The thought came to him in an instant- the potion was nearly done, there was no longer an excuse to keep seeing her if he didn't make one. "Then I'll teach you," he blurted out. "I taught you Potions, I can teach you how to cook."

She placed the last plate on the drying rack and turned to face him. "Are you serious?"

"I wouldn't offer-"

"If you had no intentions of following through," Hermione finished. "I know. But you'd really risk your precious curtains to teach me?"

He smirked again, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Oh, no," he said deviously. "Cooking lessons will have to happen in your kitchen. My curtains would never forgive me if I held them here."

She scowled at him and flicked the towel at his waist. He darted out of the way, chuckling. "You'd have to try harder than that."

In a childish response, Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "Oh, hush you," she said, tone cross but eyes playful. "Go finish that potion. I'll be down as soon as I wipe down the table."

The rest of the potion was done before four; Severus removed from the heat at quarter to and cleared his throat to get Hermione's attention.

She was lost in her book- he watched bemusedly as she finished her paragraph and slid a bookmark into place with graceful fingers. "Is it done?"

"It is," he confirmed. "Are you ready?"

The look she gave the potion, which was a sluggish red color and bubbling noxiously, was apprehensive. "I'm not sure. Explain again what it will do?"

He had already explained this part to her once, and with anyone else (not that there was anyone else he talked to) he would have heaved a sigh.

"You'll take the potion. It works slowly- going through to all your nerves and repairing them. It will also target the pain center of your brain- it's magic, so we're not as exactly sure how it works but it will ease the memory of the Cruciatus and stop most of the symptoms. If you said that you were down to maybe four to six bad seizures a year, I'd say after the potion you'd be at one. Maybe less- one every two years, if you avoid alcohol and other narcotics."

Hermione swallowed hard. "Will it hurt?"

They looked at each other, and Severus knew he couldn't sugarcoat the truth, that normally the thought would never have crossed his mind but it did now because he wanted to spare Hermione pain. "Yes."

"For how long?" There was determination on her face, strength in her eyes.

He drummed his fingers on the table. "For as long as it takes to repair most of the damage. Three hours, perhaps. The longest I've seen was five."

A flick of her wrist brought a silver wristwatch into view. Hermione checked the time and nodded. "Can I take it here? And- well, and stay?" _Will you take care of me while I'm in pain?_ was what she was asking him.

"Yes," was what he told her and what he meant. "Are you in comfortable clothes or do you need time to go home and change?"

She glanced down at herself- just jeans and a sweater for the cold of the basement, nothing fancy. "I'm fine," she said, brushing her curls back with hands that trembled still. "Will it take effect immediately?"

"You'll have about ten minutes," Severus told her. "Let's do this upstairs." He poured the potion into a decanter, touching a hand to the side and judging it cool enough to carry.

Hermione went up the stairs first, and he came behind. He could see the tension in her shoulders, in the way she carried herself. He worried for her.

When they reached the living room she curled up on the sofa and sighed. "Alright," she said. "I'm ready."

Severus handed the potion to her, watching as she drank it down in three gulps. As soon as she took the decanter away from her mouth, she shuddered and made a face. "That tasted awful," she croaked. "Do you have any water?"

He fetched some, and together they sat and waited, talking idly of things of little importance. After about eight minutes the shaking in her hands increased, and Hermione grew paler. At fifteen minutes sweat darkened the hair in a line on her forehead, and she began to tremble in earnest. At twenty, she was biting down on her lower lip, hard enough that Severus wondered if she would break through and bleed. At thirty, they paused their discussion and he found a blanket and gave it to her as she shook and trembled. At forty minutes they stopped talking entirely as the pain grew in Hermione's eyes and she focused on breathing. After an hour she had left him- shaking in jerky movements with her eyes closed and her breathing erratic and harsh.

He made tea and kept vigil over the girl's body as the sun sank lower in the western sky, coloring his living room yellow and scarlet (not quite the color of blood- far too brilliant and beautiful) until it sank beneath the trees of the park and cast long shadows over Hermione's face.

Every time she moaned he frowned, every time she made a gasping bid for air he winced in sympathy. He matched his breathing to hers, just to make sure he knew if she went too long without air.

The next week would be the first of August. Hermione had arrived in January, just over six months ago. He had interacted with her only for the last three weeks. In two months she would be twenty-six. More, she had confided in him, because of the semi-legal use of a Time Turner in her third year.

He had learned in his forty-five years as a wizard that the world didn't work in the ways an idealistic child would have grasped. The pretty girls with hair made of fire and sunlight promised friendship one moment and refused it the next. Handsome lords who dripped wealth and power dangled potions masteries in front of smart young wizards then turned those years of education into leashes and dragged them into worlds of blood and torture and death, not of elegant clothes and elegant wives and elegant manors. A boy who valued pride and honor above all else turned traitor twice, both times for a girl who had spurned him and stamped on his pride and devalued his honor. The leaders of the great revolution, one Light and one Dark were two sides of the same coin and the rim of that coin was a half-blood prince who had never wanted to be caught up in the whole mess in the first place.

But sometimes, only sometimes, a dead man found a scarred girl in a library and let her bring him back to life.

Severus Snape wasn't quite sure when Hermione Granger had wormed her way into his thoughts and into his dreams and into his life. (When he had seen her for the first time in the library, when she had seen him, when he watched her without wanting to, when she had turned to him with terror in her eyes from the sparks in the sky, when he had comforted her and let her warmth bleed into his heart, when she had freely given her pain, when he found that he was happier in her presence than alone, when he learned that her favorite reaction to anything was wrinkling her nose, when she burned his curtains, when he noticed that she never sang outright but always hummed, when his fingers brushed hers and left traces of warmth on his skin, when she teased him, when she laughed, when the most brilliant she had ever smiled was the first time she had heard him laugh, when she lay in pain on his couch and his heart thumped terribly and he felt phantom twinges in his own limbs, when thoughts about her and thoughts about love came right next to each other?)

The lamps were the only light in the room when Hermione's shaking and moans of pain slowed, then stopped. When she finally relaxed onto the couch, limp, drained, he breathed out a long sigh and let his relief overwhelm him for a sweet moment before gaining control of his feelings.

"Is all the pain gone?" he asked, a bit surprised at the hoarseness of his voice.

It was nothing compared to hers, though. "Not yet," she rasped. "But mostly. What time is it?"

"Nearing on eight," he replied. "Do you want anything?"

She started to answer, hesitated, then looked away. Severus sighed. "Say it," he ordered. "Forget politeness for two minutes and ask for what you want. If it is in my power, I will grant it."

"Well don't you sound like you just poured out of a lamp," she said wearily. "I was going to ask if you would mind if I slept on your couch tonight. I'm exhausted." It showed in her face- her hair was still dark close to her head and her skin looked clammy.

He gave her a kind of half smile he found he was using more and more around her. "Of course not."

It was clear she had been expecting a different answer. "What?"

"You'll be sleeping in my bed, not on my couch," he finished, wicked humor in every line of his face.. "Do you think you can walk?"

"Um- no, not yet- Severus! What are you do-" She made a sound between a shriek and laugh as he picked her up, blanket and all.

"It is quite obvious what I'm doing," he said, smirking. "I'm carrying you to my bedroom." The treacherous part of his mind gave him quite a few alternate scenarios where saying that might have been appropriate- he shoved them aside and focused on not pulling his back as he climbed the stairs.

Bushy curls were quite near to his nose and threatened to make him sneeze as Hermione sighed and tucked her head into the hollow formed by his collarbone and his shoulder, settling herself into a better position in his arms. She was a good size for a twenty-five year old woman, but his arms were strong and it wasn't difficult to hold her, just to find his footing on the rickety old stairs.

"You'd best watch out or I'll start thinking you've gone soft," Hermione murmured, in a tone that sounded half asleep.

She couldn't see his face, or his expression. It was a good thing too- he waited to answer as he struggled for words. "Maybe I have," he said finally, in a voice that was just as soft as hers had been.

It didn't matter. The woman in his arms was already sleeping, lulled to slumber by the rocking motion of Severus' movements and the safety she had found in his arms.

* * *

The next morning Severus woke to the sound of Hermione trying her best to pad down the stairs in her stocking feet to avoid waking him. It didn't work for many reasons, the foremost of which he had cultivated a habit of being a very light sleeper soon after he became a spy for two sides of a very dangerous war.

Therefore, when Hermione crept into the living room to check on him, she jumped and let out a little squeak when she found two open eyes looking at her quite curiously.

"Good morning," Severus said politely.

"Morning," Hermione answered, a hand still on her chest. "Sorry for waking you."

Severus yawned and untangled himself from the nest of blankets he had set up on the couch. "No you aren't. You probably did that on purpose because you knew that if I was wake I'd probably make pancakes."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I hope not. Waffles are far superior to pancakes." Scrawny arms made v shapes as her hands went to her hips.

He raised one eyebrow delicately. "My dear Miss Granger, somewhere along the line you have been misinformed. Pancakes, not waffles, are the pinnacle of breakfast foods. My personal preference is chocolate chip, but if you prefer I could make blueberry."

Hermione smiled sweetly up at him. "Chocolate chip waffles would be lovely," she said, turning and racing up the stairs. "Thank you, Severus! For the waffles and for letting me use your shower!"

He stared up after her, then turned and shook his head.

When Hermione returned, hair dripping and piled on top of her head, she found Severus swearing in a steady stream under his breath and he Vanished a burned waffle.

"Even I can make waffles," she remarked calmly. "Want some help?"

He turned and glared at her. "No. Considering your history with kitchen appliances, I would turn this bloody waffle maker over to you and you would manage to- are you wearing my clothes?"

Hermione shrugged, walking over and picking the batter up from the counter. She hummed in happiness when she found specks of chocolate in it. "I borrowed them," said the woman, turning large brown eyes on him. "You don't mind, do you, Severus?"

The only response Severus had was to scowl at her. "Impertinent chit."

"Grumpy bastard," she replied with absolutely no venom in her voice. "Here- you need to turn this little dial here to the right setting."

Breakfast was companionable, Severus with his pancakes and Hermione with her waffles. He was glad to see a happy little grin on her face- apparently there were no long lasting effects from the potion, and she was pain free. They were quiet as they ate- Severus was nearing the end of a rather fascinating book by an American author on the effects of substitutions for potions ingredients. An example he found particularly amusing was an account of the effects of a kind of American liquor called "moonshine" replacing other forms in alcohol in potions. Hermione, on the other hand, was reading a book she had found in his library on runic warding. He trusted her enough by now to allow her to eat and read at the same time. Her allergy to maple syrup helped too- no stickiness.

"When does school start for you?" he asked, frowning when he realized he had no idea of how much time he had before her time wouldn't be entirely his.

She hummed and held up a slender finger, her way of telling him to hold on a minute. "The twenty-third of August," she told him, not quite in the kitchen with him. "But I have to be there by the thirteenth. Some silly rule."

Only three more weeks. "When do we start the cooking lessons?"

Hermione shrugged. "We'll need to go grocery shopping. It's only ten- we can probably do a market before lunch. But I need to shop by my house first." She tugged at the shirt she was wearing with a wry smile. "As much as I admire your style, I prefer a bit more color. But I do applaud you on comfort. And I need to feed Crookshanks."

He gestured with one hand. "Then by all means, go home and examine your far superior closet and feed that ginger fur ball. I am going to have another cup of coffee."

She snorted and grabbed her wand. "Meet me at my house when you're down with your coffee." She turned and Disapparated.

Now that she was gone, Severus allowed himself a small smile. _I'll need to plan some curriculum for my cooking class,_ he thought. _I think we'll start off with something simple- grilled cheese, perhaps- for lunch, and then a nice roast for dinner._

With unusual haste he finished his coffee (which he had recently started taking with an American dairy creamer that Hermione adored) and hurried off to his bathroom to shower and shave. Chances were, grocery shopping with Hermione Granger would be an experience.

* * *

Smoke filled the pretty blue kitchen in Hermione' s house, alerting the fire alarms which began to beep at an ear piercing volume. Crookshanks yowled from the living room in shrill protest.

"We need to get the smoke out!" cried Hermione, clutching her hands nervously. "We need to open the windows!"

As she rushed to the lace-curtained windows, Severus drew his wand and Vanished the smoke. She was in the midst of struggling with weather worn wood when she figured out what he had done. "Smart," she muttered.

"You wish you had thought of it," Severus prompted. He cracked a half smile when she glared.

"Shut up." She looked adorable when she pouted, and his smile widened.

He gestured to the stove top. "It's still burning."

Hermione squeaked and rushed to move the pan. Inside were two crispy black grilled cheese sandwiches. "These are ruined," she said mournfully. "How did this happen?"

"You were distracted," Severus said, waving his wand again to Vanish the sandwiches.

Hermione huffed and flopped into one of her rickety old chairs. "You were the one distracting me."

"Cooking requires focus," Severus countered. "I was testing you." In truth, he had been just as distracted as she was.

* * *

By the time September crept around with its slowly cooling days and trees that were turning gold and amber and umber, Hermione could make a descent roast, grilled cheese, baked chicken, an assortment of vegetables, and a few other odds and ends. Crookshanks had appreciated the day devoted to baked cat treats.

School had started in a flurry of lesson plans, pencil shavings, and those shiny posters teachers hung in their rooms. One afternoon before the children arrived Severus spent three hours helping Hermione decorate her classroom, scowling darkly as she briskly ordered him to put things up higher than she could reach.

"You're quite handy to have around, you know," she said, letting a quiet laugh escape. It was true- he was more than a head taller than her- but that wasn't why he smiled when his back was to her.

For her birthday he left a beautifully carved wooden box with a sachet of catnip on her desk. If she asked about it he planned on telling her it was for Crookshanks and he had absolutely no idea it was her birthday but she never asked.

Severus' days, in a strange sort of paradox, both dragged on and sped up once Hermione was back in school. He spent more of the daylight at the library, although it had become custom for him begin to walk home at five o'clock, just about the time Hermione was leaving the school. They met on the main road and walked together. Hermione would talk about her day- some days she would vent about the children and more often the other teachers or administrators, and others she would chatter happily about one child's improvement or a new program she had decided to implement. Severus listened attentively, matching his pace to hers. He found it interesting, the American school system.

Usually, they would separate at Hermione's house, although his was the first one they passed. He would leave her there, and walk back to his house. Around six or seven, they'd meet for dinner.

He could tell from her conversation on the walk home if it had been a particularly hard day. If it had, he would usually walk to her house in the growing dusk, knocking three times until she would open the door with a weary smile and red ink and marker smudged on her hands. He would cook in her kitchen, she would finish grading papers (quite basic things- sometimes if something was in the oven he would grab a stack and do his best to imitate her handwriting) and they would eat and talk.

It had been so easy to fall into a rhythm with her- they circled each other, apart for only hours before coming together again. He hadn't known that he was craving her, that he needed her near him. More than a day away from flyaway curls and snapping brown eyes and her quiet laugh and he was anxious, wondering what she was doing, what she was thinking.

But when they were together they weren't constantly talking or interacting- he was more than happy to be in the kitchen alone while she worked in the living room, or to be in his potions lab while she was reading in his library. Just knowing he wasn't alone in the rickety old house was enough. Just knowing she was near him.

To make extra money Severus, at Hermione's prompting, began to take commissions for advanced potions. He put them under a false name, and refused to make his Potions Mastery common knowledge. There were far too few Potions Masters in the Wizarding World (less than five dozen last time he'd checked) and he didn't want anyone finding him.

From Hermione he had gradually formed a picture of the Magical Britain he had left behind; a place where Kingsley (he'd been alright for an Auror) was the new Minister for Magic, Harry Potter had just moved to a senior position as an Auror, and where Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were living quietly in disgrace.

According to Hermione nearly all of the marked Death Eaters had been rounded up in the first few weeks after the Final Battle; the rest had either died in their hiding places, or like Severus, had been good enough at evading the police that they had yet to be caught. So far the only ones missing were Dolohov. This knowledge had been imparted with a strange tone of voice on Hermione's part. He had racked his memory until he remembered that he had been the one to land her in the Hospital Wing after the foolhardy and disastrous adventure in the Department of Mysteries- that recollection had left him a fit of rage that nearly equaled the one that had accompanied Hermione's arrival.

He was comfortable in his life again- although comfortable wasn't quite the right word. There wasn't something missing, exactly- rather it felt like something could be there that wasn't, something that tantalized the edges of his consciousness and slipped away when he refused to examine it fully. He should be happy enough with his current state of affairs- a friend, a companion, someone who broke his solitude and made him smile. There was no need to look for anything more.

"You haven't been keeping up with your correspondence," Severus remarked dryly, bending to scoop up the scattered pile of parchment envelopes that had been in a teetering pile only moments before Hermione had walked into her own desk.

Hermione scrunched up her nose, her usual response to both reminders of things she didn't want to think about and his teasing. "Hush, you. I'll get to it."

"I'm counting... thirteen unopened letters," he informed her. "If you start worrying them, the Boy Wonder and his ginger will come knocking on your door."

She sighed heavily, pushing back her heavy hair. "That's just it. They want to come and visit, they've been telling me that I've had months to settle in and they're worried... but-" she huffed. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I was thinking that I'd take the Thanksgiving break and pop over to London. I don't particularly care for turkey and pilgrims. And that way you wouldn't be inconvenienced."

It was a good plan, reasonable, well thought out, but he still didn't like it. He refused to admit to himself that it was because the thought of several days without her was only slightly less unsettling than the appearance of Potter in his town.

"Then go," he said snarkily, covering his upset with venom. "One of you three here is bad enough. And leave Crookshanks with me. He hasn't done anything that deserves being dragged over the pond."

If he had thought that counting the days until she was back in school was bad, counting the days until the stupid American food holiday was worse.

September passed far too quickly for his liking, the bite of the days sharpening until the mornings were frigid and Hermione was wearing sweaters that had been knitted by the Weasley matriarch around the drafty houses. Now when they spent evenings together, a fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace and hot cups of tea were common. One evening Hermione showed up with a bag of chestnuts and a proud smile on her face, and they proceeded to roast them, burning their fingers as they peeled the hot nutmeat from its confines and their tongues because they couldn't wait for it to cool.

October was colder, drearier, despite the festive preparation for Halloween. Severus grew bitter, normally, around the holiday. It was only a reminder of how much he had lost- how much guilt he bore, how much he had sacrificed in atonement, how much blood would still be red and slowly cooling on his hands no matter how much he gave up, no matter how much he fought, no matter anything.

He remembered Lily around Halloween, remembered her autumn hair and spring eyes and winter heart. The woman who was dead and gone was so different from the woman who was so alive and present- Hermione was summer. She was in the summer of her life, she was a summer girl with eyes like sunlight through deep whiskey and hair that coiled and curled with pure enjoyment of being. Hermione smiled like summer and breathed like summer and was everything to him that summer was- sunlight and wildflowers and peace.

Their town was decorated in orange and black, with ghouls and goblins and ghosts, with witches and broomsticks and cats. Hermione found it hilarious- Severus was still trying to persuade her that dressing as a witch for Halloween wasn't _that_ funny, but she had yet to be convinced.

"It would be so _ironic_, Severus," Hermione insisted, her entire face a smile. "Dramatic irony. We know something they don't, so it's _funny_."

"No, it's not," he protested stiffly. "And it's Halloween. It's not meant to be funny."

Her eyes widened. "Of course-" she stopped herself, embarrassment and guilt changing her features. "I'm sorry," she said in a low voice. "I should have remembered."

There might have been pain in her face too. "No," he said, shaking his head once. "Didn't I tell you before that what Potter saw wasn't the full story?"

It was plain that she wanted to know the whole story. "You did," Hermione hedged. "But-"

"I tried to save Lily Potter not because I loved her, but because I felt guilty," Severus said harshly, bluntly. "I was foolish and idealistic and absolutely bloody terrified of what I was getting myself into. I wanted out, and I wanted Lily to get me that way out. I never wanted anything to play out the way it did."

There was a kind of bitterness around Hermione's face. "The best laid plans of mice and men," she murmured, half under her breath. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth." There was honesty in her voice, in the way she met his eyes as she said it.

To his (ever diminishing) surprise, it was worth the world.

* * *

She had been gone for two days, and already he was edgy, pacing his living room or trying to get absorbed into a complicated potion.

He wondered what she was telling Potter, what she was saying about her life, if she was thinking about him at all.

Because he was thinking about her.

He had refused to consider how quickly they had grown accustomed to each other, how quickly he had accepted her into his life and into his home. They moved around each other, with each other, in harmony, each making allowances for the other.

He cooked for her, he walked her home from school, he helped her grade papers and gave her books. She talked to him, she smiled at him, she would sometimes touch his arm or his shoulder. She let him walk her home from school and complemented his dinners. She provided him conversation and company and a warm sort of fuzzy feeling low in his chest. She would tidy constantly, she hummed as she dusted, and she just existed around him. Her cat would fall on his lap and demand to be stroked, and lick his hands sometimes.

Hermione took away his loneliness.

She didn't look at him as if he was a Death Eater, as if he had killed people and tortured others. She gazed at him with steady eyes, with kind eyes. She knew about his past and she accepted him anyway.

Severus Snape was thinking about Hermione Granger and he couldn't stop, he couldn't think about anything except the way her curls outlined her face or the way her fingertips felt on his shoulder or the way her small trembling body had felt in his arms. He thought about her and he couldn't help the tenderness and the worry and the giddy happiness he had never expected to feel with anyone.

He had thought himself incapable of feeling anything but rage and anger and bitter sorrow. He had thought himself used and old, good for naught but to live out the rest of his life an man with his heart cut out by war and the realization that both sides did not have the right (one wanted to take over the world in blood and pain and sorrow for the betterment of all and the other wanted to stop that from happening with the death of an innocent boy with no thought to the prejudice and hatred that existed) and he was going to give his life for one or the other. He had not mattered to Voldemort and he had not mattered to Dumbledore.

But now he mattered to Hermione Granger and it was such a wonderful feeling that he was sure that he would anything within his power to protect it.

* * *

The day she returned it was cold and windy. The skeletal fingers of the trees stretched black and slender toward the sky, their leaves piled in brown masses at the bases of the trunks. The bruised circles under Hermione's eyes matched the color of the clouds, and her traveling cloak was clutched tightly around her.

Her hair was pulled back from her face, and the absence of the usual explosion of curls made her look younger and older at the same time. Perhaps younger wasn't quite the right word- she looked vulnerable, with nothing to hide the line of her jaw or the slender line of her neck. Her lips were a chapped and red dash across the paleness of her face, and her eyes were weary.

He wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms and his heart beat against hers and his breath warm the top of her head until his vitality and his life was given to her and she emerged bright and happy and colorful. She was wearing grey again, grey and black and what looked like a dark purple. Mourning colors.

The Salem Portkey Center was not busy at that time of evening. Hermione had been the only one on the Portkey, a long length of wood. Severus was the only one waiting.

Their eyes met across the room, and Severus let out a long breath. She was home and all was as it should be. The corners of her eyes wrinkled as she smiled at him, a shade of her fatigue slipping of her bones.

She didn't run toward him and he didn't quite quicken his pace, but they were standing nose to nose before they should have. Hermione gave him a funny kind of knowing glance, one that was half self-assured and half doubting.

Before he could do or say anything, two arms were slipping around his chest and a warm body was pressed against his front. "I missed you," Hermione breathed, but it came out all in a jumble like _imissedyou_ and it was so close to a sob that for a moment Severus thought she was crying.

But then her arms and her delicious warmth were gone and she was picking up her suitcase again. "How did Crookshanks do?" she asked, looking away and smothering a yawn with a hand.

He answered something he wouldn't remember the next day because his mind was too full of Hermione to take in anything else.

* * *

Apparently Potter and Weasley had been in good health, and the other Weasley who was now a Potter was pregnant again and happy about it. That was all he gleaned and it was all he cared to. Most of the time she had been talking about her trip he was more focused on the curve of her mouth, the slide of her hips, the graceful way she moved her hands when she talked. Hermione was made up of a thousand curves and arches and angles and he loved _(oh yes he admitted to himself now) _every one of them.

November ended in a series of icy rains and December arrived with the usual decorations. Hermione conjured herself a charming wreath to hang on her door, and offered to do one for him. He agreed with none of his usual reluctance, and she fashioned a garland with silver berries and small white flowers and evergreen branches that gave off a strong smell.

The children at Hermione's school were putting on a little play; on the last day of school Severus sat in the farthest row and watched stone faced as they trotted around the stage and mispronounced words with more than two syllables. Her class did well, though, and Hermione was beaming by the end of the play.

"They did marvelously," she exclaimed that night, and would clapped her hands together for the fifth time if one hadn't been occupied in petting the purring cat in her lap.

Severus sighed. "They did as well as could be expected for a group of six- and seven-year-olds," he responded.

"Marvelously," she said as if in agreement. "Now if only the Christmas staff party will go well I'll be able to relax over break."

"Hmm?" he asked.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Staff party," she said again. "We're supposed to go, all the elementary, middle, and high school teachers. Bring your significant other, get tossed, and have fun. As what pretty much accounts for a first year teacher, I have to go."

"Dumbledore did those," said Severus, not lifting his eyes from his book. "I hated them."

"They are much more fun if you can get properly pissed," lamented Hermione. "Since I can't, do you want to come with me and make snarky comments?"

Now he looked up. "What makes you think that after seventeen years of that treatment from Albus Dumbledore I would subject myself to it again for your sake?"

He hadn't meant it as a mean comment, but her face changed; the liveliness and contentment that had been present smoothed over into a calm and collected facade. "Nevermind it, then."

He desperately wanted to take it back, to recall or explain his words, declare that if anything he would _only_ subject himself to a staff Christmas party for her sake, but he couldn't. Instead he swallowed and went back to his book. He finished his chapter, then left her house.

The Christmas party was three days later; Hermione had been distinctly colder toward him since the night of the play. It wasn't that she was upset at him and trying to punish him, rather, he saw that she felt that she had gone too far, had been too familiar, and his response was a rebuke. She was trying to give him space that he most decidedly did not want, and he had only one very stupid idea to return things to the way they should have been.

He owned one suit that was in reasonably good condition and fit moderately well; he found it and aired it out and donned it. He tied his hair back and shaved carefully, stowed his wand safely and in easy reach, and left his house with impeccable timing.

Instead of walking right in, he rang the bell and waited on her porch despite the bone chilling cold. The look on her face when she opened the door was worth it, however, and the flood of warmth that leaked from her house warmed him less than her smile.

"Come in," she said, more shyness in her voice than there had been in a long time.

"You look lovely," said Severus, brushing snow from his jacket. "Are you nearly ready?" Lovely didn't quite capture the contrast of emerald and cream and mahogany, of silky dress and creamy skin and shining curls. She looked older too; she hardly ever wore makeup and he quite liked the way her eyes were more defined and her mouth was crimson and her lashes even darker than they normally were.

She stood regarding him for a moment, her head cocked to the side. "Nearly," she said after a pause. "And thank you."

The party was very nearly unbearable. As Hermione had predicted there were plenty of people there, all getting drunk. Many of them were men, and far too many were sending appreciative looks Hermione's way. He stayed by her side all night and glared at the ones he didn't like.

If Hermione noticed, she didn't say anything. But every time his gaze turned too black there would be a soft hand on his arm and the half-curve of a smile on her face.

He heard the whispers as surely as she did- the other teachers wondering about the two Brits in the crowd of Yanks, the old man and the young girl who orbited around each other, talking in quiet accents and silent gestures. Neither of them drank, and while they stayed a polite distance from each other the whispers continued.

"... who knew Miss Prude would have that hiding away at home..."

"... wasn't he the one who always acted so mysterious..."

"...I didn't know she was seeing someone..."

"... that's why she always said no when I asked..."

"... how old do you think he is..."

They ignored the whispers, eventually retreating to a poorly lit table and talking until it was late enough to leave.

Severus was quite sure nothing had ever felt quite as wonderful as her arm tucked into his as he escorted her home.

* * *

**Like I said, this isn't quite done yet. **

**Leave me a comment to let me know what you thought, any comments or criticism (although please be nice to my tender authorial feelings). To everyone who came from FTOH, thanks! Y'all are a great group. **

**To those who are new to my stories, I have another, much longer, SSHG story called ****_For the Only Hope _**** that you can check out. **

**Thank you for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello!**

**I know it's been a little while since the last update, but I couldn't find a good place to end this! Therefore is a good deal longer than the last chapters.**

**The response has been overwhelming (wow there are so many reviews you make me very happy). But as always, this chapter is dedicated to Gwen because this is the final part of her birthday present. :) Hope you like it.**

**WARNING: This is the chapter that the M rating is for. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Hermione's living room was decorated faithfully with a Christmas tree, evergreen with red, gold, silver, and green baubles, and blue and yellow lights. The smell of pine permeated the room, sweet and sharp and mixed with the scents of cookies and cinnamon.

Cookies, at least, Hermione was able to make. If they were slightly burned Severus didn't say anything- he found he liked the taste of burned sugar almost as much as the proud smile on Hermione's face.

December had brought snow and cold, but not the dreary snow that turned to slush and ice. It was the kind of powdery snow that drifted from the sky and settled neatly on everything. Frigid temperatures were nothing of consequence to either Severus or Hermione- both preferred long sleeves and high collars.

Severus was still not entirely sure what Hermione was hiding on her arms- once when they were cooking she had rolled up her sleeves in a carefree moment and suddenly rolled them down again. He had caught a glimpse of what might have been a V, or perhaps and N shaped scar. He was curious but not inclined to press her toward revealing what it was that was etched on her arms. He knew that Bellatrix Lestrange had been fond of carving words into her victims, and that was all he needed to know.

After the Christmas party Hermione had been much more open around him- touching his arm, smiling brightly in his direction, humming as she moved around him. Concentrating on a book or on a potion was difficult when she was around- his first instinct was to follow her movements with his eyes, to carefully memorize her features, to drink in her voice and the way her hips moved when she hummed and swayed and thought he wasn't watching.

He took careful thought in planning his Christmas gift for Hermione. The progression of affairs as displayed by the Christmas party had assured him that keeping himself in Hermione's good graces was essential for his soundness of mind and happiness of heart. Therefore, to gift her with something for her cat was rude, unforgivably, so seeing as he had recently decided that it would be Hermione Granger and no one else.

It had been a decision made for him by Hermione herself- glorious, glorious, Hermione, with her eyes like sunlight and whiskey and a voice like coffee and chocolate.

"I don't know what I'd do without you." It was said with the gravitas of a secret, with all the quiet shame and acceptance, regret and thanks.

"Manage quite well, I'd imagine." He wanted to refuse to admit it, refuse to accept what she was telling him. He was worried he was imposing his own selfish dreams and hopes on her.

"No, Severus. I- thank you." That had frustrated her- normally, Severus read her so easily and now she was trying to say something important and he didn't grasp it- Severus could see Hermione flounder and sudden hope blossomed under his rib cage.

"There is nothing to th-" He was dazed, he tried to brush it away.

"I'm serious, Severus. It's more than the potion or the compan- no, I- no, it's useless." Her nose wrinkled and those deep eyes were so helpless he couldn't have done anything but help.

"I understand." Was his voice normally so rough?

"What?" Now there was hope in her face.

"I understand what you are saying."

Their eyes met, grey so dark it appeared black and sunlight through a glass of whiskey.

_I need you now._

_I need you too. _

_So we'll stick together, then?_

_Yes._

It was agreed in that instant. No, it wasn't spoken, but everything that needed to be said had been seen. For Severus Snape it would be Hermione Granger, and that was that.

* * *

By some unspoken agreement, Christmas was held at Hermione's house. It hadn't been planned per say- rather, Severus had just happened to stay too late, and the snow was rather awful outside, and Hermione's house was warm and the bed in the spare bedroom was already made up. He slept well between sheets that smelled like her soap, and woke as the sun was just starting to reflect brilliantly off the snow. A glance at the rigid horror of his bare neck in the mirror made him grimace and pull on a black turtleneck.

Hermione was already awake, standing at the window, one arm hugging herself and the other holding a cup of coffee. He paused in the doorway to watch her, to let the beauty of the morning and of Hermione to create a picture he wanted to keep with him forever. A delicate blue dressing gown was thin, not warm enough for the tiled kitchen with its large windows that let in the cold. The neckline sagged a bit, showing a delicate expanse of neck and just the top of her spine- normally that wasn't seen at all, but her hair was up in a messy hold. She was outlined in the window, outlined by sun and snow and the glittering brilliance of the two combined. He could just see her reflection in the window, slender form and long fingers and elegant slope of her nose.

It was only a moment before she caught sight of him in the window, turning to smile gently. "Merry Christmas, Severus."

"Merry Christmas, Hermione," he replied, giving her a small smile himself.

"Presents?" she suggested. She sipped the coffee quickly, humming in happiness.

"After coffee," answered Severus. Hermione gestured at the counter, where a cup (his cup, the black one with the silver rim) was steaming softly.

There was a pile of gifts under Hermione's tree wrapped in vibrant reds and golds that were obviously from her Gryffindor friends. But to Severus's surprise, there were an equal number of gifts wrapped in a variety of subdued wrapping papers on the other side of the tree. He turned to Hermione, who was regarding him sheepishly.

"I didn't want you to feel left out," she said, flushing red. "So..."

"So you got me twenty presents?" Severus asked incredulously.

"No!" protested Hermione. "One is from Martha. And another one is from Harold." Harold was the man who owned the small sandwich shop not far from their houses.

He couldn't believe it, he couldn't believe her. The small pile of gifts were more than he had received at one time in his entire life- at home there had been one or two when he was younger and then Christmas was forgotten, at Hogwarts for five years there had been small things from Lily, and as an adult he got gifts regularly from three people: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Lucius Malfoy.

"Let's open them, then!" Hermione said cheerfully, sprawling ungainly on the ground.

He followed her lead, pulling a gift over to himself. Wrapped in paper of a soft gold color, it was the approximate size and shape of a book. Severus removed the paper carefully, noting the care that had been giving to wrapping it. Slowly a book was revealed, a thick tome he had once mentioned to Hermione- four months ago.

She was happily pulling paper off a series of gifts- chocolates, books, socks, a portable herb garden, and what looked like a homemade stuffed animal that was a cross between a horse, a narwhal, and a pigeon. While Severus was methodical, Hermione reverted back to childhood at Christmas time.

Soon there was a neat stack of books near Severus, as well as a small flask of a cologne similar to the one he made himself, what he thought was a shakily knitted green scarf, new storage containers for ingredients, a gift card to the sandwich shop (presumably from Harold) and a few boxes of sweets.

Hermione had finished before him and was now watching him happily, hugging her knees with her chin propped up and a smile on her face. "Well?"

He raised one eyebrow. "This was quite unnecessary."

"So you like it then?" asked the woman.

It would be cruel to lie to save face, and he didn't really have any face left to save with Hermione. "Of course." There was a pause, he decided to go with his gut instinct. "I have something else for you."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Oh?" He had wrapped a book, a safe choice, but had something he was reserving.

Severus was quiet as he stood and rummaged in his pocket. Hermione stood too, a quietness settling over her excitement. She stood before him, close enough for him to see the faint freckles on her nose and every one of her eyelashes.

His hand brushed the metal of the gift, and before he could change his mind (too late now) he was saying, "Close your eyes," to Hermione.

Her eyes met his, and then she obeyed. He lifted the necklace to her neck, clasping it easily because her hair was up. "You can open now."

She did, a hand flying to her neck. The chain wasn't long enough for her to examine it- instead, the she went to the mirror that hung over a set of drawers in the hall.

"Oh- Severus, it's beautiful," she breathed. He personally thought it looked lovely on her- the silver shimmered gently against her skin. The working of the pendent was exquisite- he was very pleased with how it had turned out. The runes for health, happiness, and love were laid over and with each other in a sign that looked like merely an interesting weave of lines, but he knew Hermione would know what they were. He had gone to Salem Village and had it made for her, just for Hermione, and had then spelled protection spells on it himself.

He came to stand behind her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "You like it, then?"

A gentle smile broke over her face. "I love it." She turned, craning her neck to look up at him. "Thank you."

He wasn't quite sure what made him do it then, at that moment, but Severus leaned down swiftly and brushed her lips with his. It was hardly a kiss at all- just a brush of lips, the smoothness of her skin under where his fingers were holding her face in place with the lightest touch, and the awe of being so close to her.

When he pulled away after a hesitant moment, she sighed, and those wonderful lips parted. Then her eyes opened, and looked, searching into his.

"How long?"

"I don't know."

"What do you know?"

"That I am prepared to love you."

"To love me?"

"To love, and all it entails."

She smiled and moved closer to him, pressing her body to his and nestling her head in his chest. He held her, arms sure for once as they came to embrace her. When she pulled away he let his arms drop, but raised them again when he saw that she was only reaching to kiss him. She was barefoot, rising on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck and pull his face down to hers.

This time her mouth opened to him, taking him in as a supple tongue pressed against his. She tasted of coffee and mint and Hermione, and the shape of her in his arms with the taste of her in his mouth was the most exquisite thing Severus had ever experienced.

* * *

Now their days settled into a new pattern. Now when Hermione cooked and hummed and danced, Severus would come stand behind her and kiss the back of her neck. Or when he was reading in the scant light from the lamp Hermione would wiggle her way into his arms and light up her wand and he would read aloud to her. There was a new happiness in her face, a pure joy in the way she moved and how she was always touching him, his arm or his face or his lips, giddy with the happiness of him.

It was dizzying for Severus, the realization that she was so happy because of him- because of a dour old man who rarely smiled. But she smiled enough for the both of them- she was beaming brilliantly when they walked into the library hand in hand.

He wanted to spend all his time exploring Hermione, learning her mouth and her shape and her sighs the way he learned her habits and her expressions and her laughter.

They were still shy around each other- dancing and darting and coming in for small chaste kisses. He liked holding her on the couch, curled up under a blanket and reading or watching the small television set at Hermione's house or talking.

They talked about everything and nothing, they avoided the topics that scared them. Severus worried about his scars, about hers, about how serious she was about how intense his own feelings for her were. Somewhere along the way it was agreed that they would progress slowly, not to rush this wonderful thing of kisses and adoration and newness.

He reveled in tiny, subtle differences in their days. Hermione was off from school, they could relax and read and talk together with no interruptions. The way her eyes lit up completely when he bent to kiss her, telling him without words that she loved his kisses, made him smile against her mouth. The small hand that slipped into his while they walked to the library made him slow his pace to savor the sensation for as long as possible. It wasn't so much a new side of Hermione as a new facet.

Before they had talked and argued, yes, but she had never climbed onto his lap to kiss him senseless when she was losing the argument.

Before they had cooked together, but now food was burning because neither of them noticed the timer going off in the background- somehow Severus had gotten Hermione up on one of the kitchen counters and was quite busy with her mouth and her hair and her neck.

Before they had touched each other, yes, but accidental hand brushes or rare hugs were far from this Hermione who now ran her hands over his shoulders and rubbed them lightly while passing behind him, or ran her fingers through his hair, or let him hold her and kiss her.

He had thought that had forgotten how to do this- and the clumsiness of it all added a sense of innocence. Hermione was just as unsure as he was- it wasn't inexperience as much as time and insecurity. He had slowly come to realize over the past months that Hermione was as uncomfortable in her body as he was in his.

Things came to a head one night in the new year- January, only a week or so before his birthday. Snogging on Hermione's couch was the activity of the night, and Severus had been thoroughly enjoying the heady rush of Hermione's shape under him and her hands moving over his back and her taste in his mouth. A hand slipped under her shirt- the slightly rounded shape of her stomach met Severus' palm, and Hermione froze.

Immediately he pulled away, sitting up to giver her space. Hermione's eyes were closed, and she took a shaky breath. Then she sat up as well, meeting his eyes defiantly as she crossed her arms, gripped the hem of her shirt, and drew it over her head.

She was beautifully made, Severus thought. There was nothing but a flimsy lacy bra between him and her breasts- but between her breasts, from her right shoulder, down across her abdomen to her left hip, crossed a thick ropy scar. By her belly-button was another old injury- a curved slash.

And on her forearms, the work of Bellatrix Lestrange. One one arm the word _Mudblood _was carved into her flesh, and on the other was a crudely etched lightening bolt. _Because she's a muggleborn and affiliated with Harry Potter,_ Severus figured.

He had no articulate response to give her. Instead, meeting her steady gaze again, he began to unbutton his shirt. It was a process- Severus was in the habit of wearing black slacks and a white button down shirt from his teaching days, and he kept that habit now. His cuffs had already been rolled up- now was just the front row of buttons. Finally, he shrugged it off.

Severus knew he was a scrawny, ropy thing. He was strong yes, with flat wiry muscles that didn't lend themselves to an impressive physique. Years of stress, poor eating habits, and curses had left him thin and his skin slightly jaundiced- his liver wasn't in the best condition either. But since moving to America he had filled out a bit more, and his hair and teeth were better.

His own front and back were littered with scars- when the Dark Lord had been displeased with his followers, he either cursed them himself or ordered Bellatrix to do it for him. And as a spy who couldn't always provide accurate information, Severus had been punished many times.

His neck was a mess too- masses of scar tissue, because Nagini had not just bitten him, she had torn out part of his throat. The venom had scarred the skin farther- it was by no means a pretty sight.

Hesitantly, he reached out to her. She seemed to realize what he wanted- she placed her hand in his and allowed him to guide her hand to his neck.

"I'm scarred too," he said, voice dipping lower than usual. "Do you see just my scars when you look at me?"

Hermione's fingers caressed his neck. It was a sensation that was as dulled as it was sharply in color- he could feel her fingers tracing the lines that had once blazed with pain. "I see a man who was hurt too many times. And I know from looking at you now that I would give anything in the world to have prevented you from suffering so."

His own hand came up to her cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears that threatened to spill. "You are beautiful to me." His other hand traced the long scar that crossed her chest and stomach. He felt the muscles clench under her skin, he could feel the silky smoothness of scarred skin.

She gave him a slightly watery smile. "Kiss me, then."

He obliged.

Clothes were mostly discarded in her living room, and then the decision to at least make an attempt to reach the bedroom was made.

He lost himself in her- Severus was dissolved and his only purpose was to consume Hermione, to kiss her to taste her to take her to make her his because he was already hers. There were noses that bumped at the wrong time and hair that got in the way and absolute perfection- the room and the sheets on the bed were cold but Hermione was burning warm.

After her remembered fingers clenching in his hair and the glorious sensation of settling into the cradle of her hips, of connecting himself fully to her. He remembered her whispering his name, he remembered groaning hers and falling next to her, holding her tightly to him so he wouldn't lose the closeness that being one had created.

There was something beautiful, something immensely powerful in seeing Hermione's flushed face as she gave in to pleasure, in knowing that whatever horrible memories she had that he had taken them away and given her peace for a moment. And he reveled in it himself- inside her he was no longer a former Death Eater, he was a man she was a woman and they had no past and no future, just the present.

They fell asleep in a tangle of limbs and sheets, Severus wearily calling the heavy down comforter over them with a twitch of his fingers and a mumbled spell. He curled himself around her, pressed a kiss to the damp skin behind her ear, and went to sleep.

When he woke he felt utterly content. He was gloriously warm- they were nestled in a cocoon of blankets, sharing body heat. She was still breathing slowly and heavily. He didn't want to rise, didn't want to wake and disturb the peace. And so he didn't- Severus let himself relax back into sleep despite the sunlight spilling into the room.

The next time he awoke Hermione was twined around him, a leg thrown over his hips and her head resting on his shoulder. He was awake now and would stay awake; now he just had to wait for Hermione to wake.

He could see her face in sleep- the smoothness of her skin, how fragile it looked where it was veined in blue over her eyelids, how translucent on the underside of her arm. Her brows were strong, her nose delicate, her chin stubborn. With no little pleasure, he saw the marks he had left on her red on her neck. She was his- wonderfully his.

There was no doubt now- the wave of protectiveness he felt about this other life wrapped around his was profound, dizzying.

Severus had thought that Lily would be the closest he would ever get to love. He had been wrong- so wrong it no longer felt blasphemous to think about her with Hermione's hair wrapped around his hand. There was no comparison- Hermione eclipsed anything he could have ever hoped for.

This was what had been missing, what he had craved without knowing it existed.

It was Hermione waking up in his arms, eyes flying open in shock before she melted into his arms with a smile. The corners of her eyes crinkled, and she ran her fingers over his chest. "Morning," she murmured.

"Good morning," he replied, amused. He slowly untangled his hand from her hair, trying to not hurt her, so he could properly kiss her.

* * *

When school started again their routine changed once more. Severus found he disliked sleeping alone- sometimes he couldn't sleep and it was better to be a warm bed with a softly whuffing Hermione than than alone with the roar of his thoughts. He could concentrate on her, concentrate on the way she smelled, the number of freckles she had, the rhythm of her breathing. Sometimes she couldn't sleep either- if was awake too they would talk, the kind of soul baring openness that can only happen in a dark room when the participants are so tired it feels more like a dream than a real conversation.

It was a night like that when he told her about Lily. When she described the look on Draco Malfoy's face when his aunt was torturing her. When he revealed more about Dumbledore than he had ever meant to. When she recounted how every one of her friends had pulled away after the war, from a lost Harry who retreated into Ginny's arms to a grieving Ron who pulled on his bravado and charm to avoid his brother's death and his own confused feelings about the war. He told her about his parents and their sad lives. She cried when she admitted that her parents refused to talk or see her after she had removed their memories.

Other nights it was happier. She told him about the day she received her Hogwarts letter, the queasy thrill of riding on a hippogriff, how she had dreamed of becoming a Healer or a magical barrister before she realized that lucrative positions were not always open to Muggleborn girls and if she did get it, she would be expected to act as an image- as Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin First Class, Defender of Hogwarts and not do any actual work. He told her a few of his happier memories, of Lily and of the days before his mother had gone mad.

He walked her to school in the mornings with her arm tucked neatly into his. The first few days Hermione came home flustered, explaining that all day her colleagues had been questioning her about Severus.

"What do I tell them?" she asked, hand unconsciously rising to fiddle with a curl. "I know that privacy is important to you and I certainly don't want them mucking around in my love life, but-"

He smirked at her, eyes glinting. "I'll take care of it," he promised. "Tomorrow morning." It was true, he was a man who liked his privacy, but he was conflicted. On one hand he wanted to keep what he had with Hermione hidden from the sun, to be theirs and theirs alone, sweet and untouched by any prying fingers. On the other, he wanted to aggressively make his claim, mark her as his in the most visible of ways, declare to the world that Hermione was under his protection, that anyone that called down her wrath would call down his as well because _he was bloody well hers too. _He wanted there to be no question about his dedication to her, but at the same time he wanted to keep the illusion of alone-ness they had created together.

So the next morning when he left her at the gate to the school, he checked to make sure they were too early for the children to have arrived and bent down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. Her cheeks pinked adorably, and she glared at him. "You said you would take care of it."

"And I have," he said smugly. "If they saw that they shouldn't be asking anymore questions. They have their answers."

Her scowl deepened. "They'll have more questions now."

He kissed her again. "Resolved?" He knew he was smirking now, but he couldn't help himself. It was so nice to hold her here, in the cold.

"No!" she protested. "Severus!" She laughed, pulling away.

He walked home with a tiny smirk on his face. He had potions to make.

* * *

It was during a spring thunderstorm in March that Hermione brought it up. It was dark, in Severus' bedroom. Somewhere around three in the morning- Hermione had woken with a shuddering gasp and immediately turned to muffle her sobs in Severus' shoulder. He woke quickly, confused for only a moment before he began to comfort her as best he could.

She calmed quickly- it had been a bad dream, a nightmare, nothing more and nothing less. Afterward, however, she did not want to return to sleep.

"I want to tell Harry and Ron about you," she said, voice breaking the silence of the night. "I want to let them know that I've finally found peace."

He was quiet for a long time, turning it over in his mind. There was safety to his anonymity, safety in being dead. But he understood what Hermione was trying to tell him- the friendship forged one Halloween in a girl's bathroom had been hardened in battle and brought to an heat so intense it had no choice but to fracture once the pressure was released. But the bonds were still there, the need to assure one another that even thought they lived separate lives everyone was safe and happy. Harry, Ron, and Hermione could slip into the old roles of friendship with an ease that was eerie, but soon, for Hermione at least, it became too much. Even so, she knew that if either of them were in trouble she would move heaven and earth to save them and they would do the same for her. Their link was still strong, even after months and years, and Severus could see this clearly, even enviously.

"Just them?"

"Yes."

"Tell them to come here."

"To visit?"

"We certainly are not going to adopt them."

"I was planning on just writing a letter."

"Better to invite them than to have them storming over with an Auror regiment."

"Very well then. Spring Break or Summer?"

"Summer."

"I'll write them in the morning."

* * *

Hermione was sitting at Severus' kitchen table, a set of wire framed reading glasses settled on her nose and frown on her face. He knew that face- it was her 'bills' face. She huffed and looked up at him. "Do I even need an entire house?"

He stared at her for a moment. "Mine's big enough for two."

A curl fell into her face as she cocked her head to the side. "And a cat?"

"I like cats," Severus conceded with a shrug.

Hermione straightened. "Alright then. I'll call the realtor's tomorrow." She had hardly finished her sentence before she was being kissed hard. There was a primal joy that she wanted to live with him, to link her life to his. Even though he knew that she wouldn't be able to end her lease until July or move in until the summer, his fierce happiness made him claim her mouth with his.

She giggled when he pulled away, smiling widely. "I love you too," she said happily.

He went back to cooking and she returned to her bills.

Just the prospect of Hermione moving in with him was strange to Severus- the last time he had really lived with someone had been in his days as a Hogwarts school boy, sharing a dorm with four others. He had never lived with a woman- at least, not in the sense of a man living with a woman.

He imagined it would be very similar to the way their lives were being lived already- except all at his house. He would wake up with her in his arms most days. There would only be one kitchen, one bed. One hearth, one home.

Home. Severus wanted a home with her, with his Hermione. It was a beautiful thing, a real home, and he had never really quite had one like the one he was living in now. He found the routine pleasing in its mundane nature, the slow progression of life from fall to winter to spring all the more pleasant with Hermione at his side.

For the most part the newness had faded from their newly sexual relationship- they had fallen into an easy rhythm that combined love and friendship in a manner that was quite enjoyable.

Once they had overcome the almost instinctual sense of fear that came from someone seeing their bare bodies- scarred, marked, not as ruined as they had originally assumed- the trust between them grew. He knew that she had the power to wound him dreadfully with a handful of words and he knew that he could do the same. That was what love was to him- he had given Hermione the capability to hurt him freely, against every Slytherin bone in his body, because he knew that it was only it baring his soul to her that he could be sure she truly loved him. If she could see all the ugliness and pain and guilt without turning her face in shame, he could be worthy of her, and in a way she could be worthy of him as well, for being strong enough to face it head on.

Relearning a woman's body, learning Hermione's body, had been a venture Severus was more than willing to undertake. Hermione was unable to be quiet- he loved that about her. He loved pulling every sound, every moan and breathless laugh and sigh from her beautiful mouth, either releasing them into the dark of the house or swallowing them into his own mouth.

She was a minx, she was a tease, she was delightful in the way she was so curious and so demanding and so happy with him. Even if she would sometimes look out the window with a terribly sad look on her face or wipe away tears in the night, Severus was there. He was there to make her smile, to soothe the tears. He would be there for her. He had promised to love her and all it entailed, in essence promising to be there for her all of her days (or his remaining ones) and he would be.

There was nothing in the world Severus now valued more than Hermione Granger.

* * *

The days of spring developed a muggy humidity that made Hermione's hair explode into huge bushy curls in the weeks after Easter. The warmth of the sun increased until the dryness returned, bringing with it fireflies that blinked in bushes at dusk and the end the school.

Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were set to arrive five days after school ended. Hermione had planned it so they would arrive before she had to move out of her house, ensuring that they and Severus would not have to be in particularly close quarters all the time. In May she started to explain the presence of a man in her life- she wrote about him in couched terms, anxiously reading the letters out to him to ensure they were truthful enough without revealing too much.

"_I've met someone here- well, not met exactly. He was an old friend, you see. I mentioned him before- just to say that we've been meeting up and talking about the good old days."_

"_It's been wonderful, here in America. No, I'm not telling you who my 'mystery man' is, Harry. You'll see when you and Ron come. You know how it is- we were all rather paranoid after it all finished and he doesn't want me to write his name in a letter."_

"_And about Him- yes, I capitalized it, Ron, don't get all fussy about my grammar mistake I did it on purpose- things are progressing nicely. I did pass on your warning that if he had the gall to harm me he would face you and Harry, but I don't believe it would come to that. He's prickly on the outside but wonderfully sweet on the inside."_

"_Well, yes I do suppose Crookshanks loves him, and no more that that will have to wait until you come."_

"_School's out- you and Ron do have your Portkey date, right? I would hate to have gone through so much trouble getting everything ready just for you two to forget and leave me waiting at the station."_

In the week before the two boys arrived, Severus grew more and more nervous. Yes, she said that she loved him and was happy with him, but that was only here, in their little American bubble. What would she say when confronted by her English friends? Would she chose them over him? What possible reason would she have to stay with him if they all demanded she leave? Hermione was not a cruel person, no, she wouldn't hurt him on purpose. Rather, she would stay with Severus out of a sense of duty and regret, and lose all her friends because of it. She would grow to resent and hate him- he couldn't let that happen.

But would he be able to let her go if he saw that happen? Could Severus give Hermione up for her own sake? If he could do it for anyone, it would be for her. But how self-sacrificing was he? He would hurt himself to save her, but could he make himself release the best thing that his hell of a life had given him? Or was he so selfish that he would desperately cling to her, go through the motions and pretend she loved him just because facing the truth of her disdain would be so awful?

During the day he would perform experiments, to see how capable he was of distancing himself from her. As much as it hurt he would speak less, he wouldn't surprise her with kisses or lift her feet to his lap as they read. He would be nearly silent on their walks, he would ignore her as much as he was able, just to test himself.

Each night he would cave, he would wait until the lights were off and he couldn't see the confusion in every line of her body and he would press himself to her, possess her. He would run his hands over her body ruthlessly, claim her mouth with a fierce need and pain and fear of loss that made him grip her tightly and hold her to him with a strength born of the desperate desire to keep her. He lost his gentleness most nights, giving in the worry and pain and premature anger- she was _his_ (but only because he was hers and he didn't know if he was Severus any more because he was now Hermione's Severus) and how dare she clear her vision and see him as he really was, through the eyes of Weasley and Potter. He left marks on her body- he didn't hurt her, but he left little red marks on her neck and on her thighs and on her breasts, his marks form his mouth.

She accepted it all, murmuring love and encouragement as he harshly moved over her, saying her name and nothing else over and over again. She let him hold her tight, she in turn pressed his head to her chest and stroked his hair, telling him how much she loved him.

But it was the timeless story, the way he knew it would play out. Like Psyche with her two sisters, the two who were like siblings to Hermione would question her, force her to question herself and her lover, give her a lantern and oil with which to shed light on Severus and his soul. Then she would flee- or he would, to spare her.

In one small fragment of his mind he knew he was being ridiculous, he knew he was doubting Hermione who had given him no reason to doubt her. He knew that he wasn't presenting a good case, that he was pushing her away while trying to pull her in, but he couldn't help himself. An endless litany of the ones who had left him (_mummylilyalbusluciustom)_ ran through his head, and he could only see an ending where her name was tacked on to the end of the that list.

He resolved to right it only the day before they came- rather than distance himself from Hermione, he took her in. He brought her coffee in their bed, they walked to the park and sat by the duck pond, they ate at Howard's Submarine Shoppe. For a surprise he Apparated her to Salem Village, where magical street performers had a show.

When the arrived home he led her to their bedroom and painstakingly undressed her, tracing her outline with the barest touch of his fingertips. He kissed her as sweetly as possible, as gently, a small apology for the night preceding.

Hermione's hands came up to grasp his face, kissing him back with just as much strength. "Severus," she whispered as she pulled away. "Severus, this feels like a goodbye." Her eyes were wet with tears, and a tremor ran through her voice.

He felt helpless. "Is it?" he asked hoarsely. "We- can we exist outside ourselves?"

Her fingers were in his hair, caressing his cheeks. "This is not goodbye," said Hermione fiercely. "Severus- I _love_ you."

Severus wasn't quite sure how to say it, how to string the words together to say the feeling he had that nothing would end up right, that they wouldn't have their love in a month or a year. So he just looked at her, keeping his eyes open as he kissed her soundly.

He was gentle. He memorized her, he took his time to make her come apart with his hands, with his tongue, with himself. She could do nothing but say his name, beg him to say that he loved her. He answered of course, promising again and again, telling her that she was the best thing that had ever happened to him and that he had tried to see what it as like to give her up and he couldn't take it, he wouldn't be able to stand life without her.

It wasn't night anymore, but early morning when they finally fell asleep, exhausted and frightened. Neither was sure would the coming day would bring- Severus just knew that at that moment there was no one he would ever love more than Hermione.

The summer day that dawned upon them was achingly bright and far too cheery- they didn't speak of what had passed the day before when they rose. If Severus lingered a little too long when he kissed her good morning, if she held his hand a little too tightly, they made no comment.

Hermione Apparated to Salem Village alone- Severus remained behind, at his house. The plan was for Hermione to take Ron and Harry to her home, eat lunch with them to catch up, and then Severus would stop by for tea in the afternoon.

The morning was unbearably long, dragging, hot. Severus brewed until he became too distracted and accidentally made an elementary mistake that ruined the base of a potion he had been working on for two weeks. It was a silly mistake but it meant that he would have to start again and the order might be late. He growled with frustration and stomped out of his lab, pausing in the kitchen to check the time again. It was noon- he made a sandwich and ate it standing up, evaluating the time frame before him.

He read for as long as he could stand, going from book to book hoping to find something to occupy his mind. He gave up around one and moped around the house until three. Then he nervously brushed back his hair and prepared for the walk to Hermione's house.

The route was familiar to him, terribly so. He passed Mrs. Mullen, who was out gardening, and a man he knew only as Frank out mowing his lawn. It was a Saturday- children were playing in their yards, and they knew who he was if by sight if not by name.

Her door was as welcoming as always- the wreath had left with the snow, but she decorated with a new one of summer flowers. He waited on the steps for a moment before ringing the bell.

Severus could hear the chime echoing throughout the house, he could hear Hermione's footsteps approaching the door lightly. It opened- he was hit with scent of her perfume and a slight smell of burned meat. She was red-cheeked from smiling, joyous in seeing her friends.

"I thought you were going to make sandwiches for lunch," he said, smirking.

She scowled at him. "We did have sandwiches for lunch."

He chuckled and entered the house, bending down to kiss her quickly. "Are they here?"

"Yeah," she said, grabbing his hand. "And they've been prepped, a bit." From the living room he could hear the low rumble of male voices.

They walked into the sitting room hand in hand. The two boys- men, now, really- looked so different from his memory, and yet so the same. James Potter was alive again in front of him, but older than he had ever seen James. Lily's eyes looked back at him, widening in either wonder or horror. Weasley- tall and stocky now, hair as red as ever, breathed out, "Bloody hell."

"Potter," he said, tone as cordial as he could make it. "Weasley."

Both were reaching for their wands- Hermione stepped in front of him. "Stop," she ordered. "I told you he'd be a surprise and I also told you that I checked and he was _safe_ and that I _trust_ him."

Weasley's mouth gaped open like that of a fish, and Potter's brows snapped together as his eyes narrowed. "Now, Hermione-"

"Don't 'now Hermione' me, Harry," Hermione said, a warning in her tone. "Please. Severus is alive- and you know what his allegiance was. And he's- we're-" She flushed redder. "We're together. So leave him alone."

Weasley was turning a rather fetching pink- "You- him-" he started. "Snape?" It was nearly a squeak.

"Yes," Hermione said simply. "And we're all going to have tea together."

Before he knew it, Severus found himself with a tea cup in his hand, sitting next to Hermione with the Boy-Who-Lived and the youngest male Weasley across from him. They were gaping at him in shock still, while Hermione chattered on.

He focused on her, for focusing on Hermione was infinitely better than focusing on the two men. They all answered her questions in a haze of shock.

"Yeah- yeah, the Ministry's fine," Harry said, sneaking looks at Snape. "Um- Hermione-"

"That's fantastic, you know I was always worried about how that would turn out," Hermione continued. "The American magical government doesn't interfere much, here- the only time we heard from them was when we moved here, right Severus?"

"Yes," he said. "The typical visa things. They smoothed things over with the Muggle government. And if we want to apply for citizenship later we'll have to do it through the Magical government."

Hermione nodded. "They've been great- the teaching credentials I got over in England transferred right over."

"Yeah- did you consider their offer, by the way?" Ron asked, rubbing the back of his head. "For the- you know, the witch's school."

"The Salem's Witch's Institute," Hermione answered, glancing at Severus. "No, no. Not really."

He knew that the boys were dying with their questions, and wanted to ask them when he wasn't there. The pit of dread in his stomach tightened with his own unease, and with Hermione's. The time came for him to leave, and as eager as he was to leave he didn't want to leave her there with them.

"I'll be seeing you tomorrow," Severus said stiffly to the boys. "For dinner."

Both boys glanced nervously at the kitchen. "Err-" Ron started to say. "Here?"

Severus smirked humorlessly. "I have no desire to eat charred meat. At my home. Rest assured that Hermione will not be allowed within ten feet of the stove."

Harry laughed outright- Hermione scowled and smacked Severus lightly on the arm. "Prat," she muttered.

He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. "I thought I was a godless, selfish, greedy bastard?"

There was a mischievous smile on her face as she answered. "Only in bed." He choked at the same time Ron did- the two men met each others eyes in a moment of shared horror, then looked away. Hermione giggled helplessly. "Sorry."

"Liar," Severus muttered.

She grinned. "I'll see you later tonight," she promised, stretching her tip-toes to kiss his cheek quickly. "Off with you."

He obeyed swiftly. As he left, he could hear plaintive complaints about not needing to know anything about "Snape's love life," and he couldn't help but smile.

* * *

That night she did come as promised, still brimming with her satisfied and tired elation of having the three people she loved most in the world all in relatively close proximity.

Snape had been waiting up for her, reading in his usual armchair. When he heard the door open and close his throat clenched. Hermione appeared, hair damp from the summer storm lashing tree branches against glass windowpanes and sending torrents of warm raindrops on the muddy earth.

"They don't like it," she said, walking toward him slowly. Her eyes hardened. "But I don't care." Hot conviction echoed in her words, the wonderful, stubborn determination that characterized Hermione.

He put his book aside, rising in one swift motion to gather her in his arms and press her against him, kissing her roughly as he blindly steered them to a wall. Her legs wrapped around his hips as he held her cold face in his warm palms, tangling his fingers in her hair. He could feel her breasts against his chest, his hardness pressing against the seam of her jeans, her cold fingers brushing his skin as she unbuttoned his shirt.

"Tell me," he ordered her, voice breaking with something (weakness, fear, love) as pressed inside her. "Hermione-"

"I love you," she gasped, letting out a shuddering breath. "Don't ever doubt that I love you, Severus."

She bit down on his shoulder as he came with a strangled noise, slumping down on the ground with her in his arms. The smarting pain of it brought him back to himself, back to the slowly warming woman in his arms. He kissed her again, gently. "I love you too," he told her. "I don't know- you're everything to me, now."

Hermione's smile was a bit dazed. "You silly old man. Don't you know that you're everything to me, too?"

He laughed, knowing it was that or tears- Severus almost never cried, but the well of emotion pushing at the back of his throat told him it might be a possibility. "What am I compared to them? Young, healthy heroes?" He felt his age more severely now- the floor was hard, and pressing into his back and buttocks. He thought hard, twisting with Hermione in his arms to Apparate them the short distance to their bed.

Hermione landed on top of him, and stayed there, sprawled over his body. "You are everything, Severus," she said seriously. "I- there's a lot to be said for young, healthy heroes but there is more to be said for a man who has the capacity to love as much as you do." At his confusion (for that did confuse him greatly) she shook her head and closed her eyes.

"Do you think I couldn't see it?" she asked. Her eyes opened again, wide, to stare into his. She rested a hand on his heart. "I can _feel_ it sometimes, Severus. Sometimes it's overwhelming in its intensity, but I love it. You look at me and I _know_ that you're thinking about how much you love me. I can tell in the way you move, how you hold me, the way you tense if anyone gets too close. You want to protect me, you want to hold me, you _want_ me." As strong as her words were, she looked so vulnerable, a face hovering above him framed with riotous curls. "You say it sometimes in your sleep."

"I don't talk in my sleep," Severus said, surprised.

A half smile lifted the left side of her mouth. "Sometimes you do. You don't say much."

"What do I say?" he asked. It was dawning on him that it was possible that she watched him sleeping as often as he watched her.

The smile deepened. "My name."

"It's true," he said finally. "I do want you. I want you to be safe, to be happy."

She tucked herself into his side. "And I want the same for you. And you haven't been happy the past week, Severus."

"I was afraid of losing you," he told her honestly.

"I was afraid you would do something stupid like leave in the middle of the night. Or just walk out the door and disappear," admitted Hermione.

The rain was pounding on the roof and on the windows as the couple remained quiet for a while. Severus was almost lulled into sleep, with the warmth of Hermione pressing into his side and the lullaby of her breathing with the rain.

"Don't leave me," Hermione whispered.

He moved carefully until he was hovering over her, face only inches above hers. "I won't," he promised.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled her down to him.

* * *

Severus spent the rest of Harry and Ron's visit rather secure and smug about his position in Hermione's affections. He was slightly jealous of their drain on her time, but contented himself with the knowledge that they would be gone in matter of days and Hermione was to remain in America with him. All further interactions with the duo were still fraught with ill ease and awkwardness, but both made an effort to be polite and everyone skirted around dangerous topics.

He knew that they questioned Hermione about him to the point where the threatened to hex Ron's mouth shut, but they refrained from bothering him so he was quite content with the situation. They slept in her old house, and most nights Hermione appeared in his bedroom with the sharp crack of Apparition, he didn't have anything to complain about concerning the sleeping arraignments.

When Hermione's two friends finally left after a week and half, their lives returned to contentedness. Hermione moved into his house in June, bringing the ginger menace with her; he found that having a large cat curled up and purring his lap as he read was just as calming as Hermione's humming as she wrote letters or worked on a project. She took up gardening- he just laughed when the bridge of her nose and the tips of her ears turned bright red. The next day he made up an extra strength sunscreen potion, which she accepted with a smile.

The people in the neighborhood soon got used to the (shockingly) unmarried couple living together, even if there were still rumors running around. Neither cared, really- the only community events they really cared about were the few fairs and festivals that their little town held, and neither was particularly religious.

Both Hermione and Severus knew that in time things would settle down and life would continuously move on- and that was enough.

Eventually their nightmares would cease and Hermione's bad days would grow farther and farther apart. Severus would eventually appreciate the color of the flowers in their garden (if only for their uses in his potions) and Hermione would eventually prevent her lover with an unburned roast on his birthday (it wouldn't be until he was well into his fifties, however) and both would eventually become known as "that old British couple."

The Library would be taken over by one of the junior librarians after Martha became too old to do much more than read to the children every Saturday afternoon at story time; after she passed away in her sleep Hermione showed up at three o'clock sharp and settled into the rocking chair without a word of complaint from the new librarians.

Time would move slowly in their little corner of the world, but Hermione and Severus would be content.

* * *

**And so ends this story.**

**I hoped you enjoyed it- let me know if you did. It wasn't meant to get so long, but it did. It wasn't meant to be anything serious or dark- I wanted to portray a story that was sweet and nice and cozy but still somewhat true to canon characterization. It was supposed to be domestic and a bit fluffy. **

**FTOH READERS: I updated on Friday. FF was down, so almost no reviews went through. If you had feedback, could you resubmit it? Or if you didn't see the chapter, it's up! Sorry if things got messed up, but Chapter 14 is there!**

**If you liked this, I do have another SS/HG story that is much closer to canon. **

**Thank you for reading! And thanks in advance to everyone who will review- thank you for giving feedback!**

**Until next story. :)**


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